


Malus Coronaria

by littlemiss_m



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (deriving from food insecurity as a child), (doesn't happen in the story), (no explicit sex scenes or anything but several references to it), Alpha Gladiolus Amicitia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anxiety, Awkward Conversations, Body Image, Casual Sex, Childhood Trauma, Food Issues, Foster Care, Healing, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Prompto Argentum, Past Child Abuse, Prompto Argentum Needs a Hug, Recovery, Relationship Discussions, True Mates, discussed mpreg, discussed self-harm, sex as self-harm, tags will update with each new chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-09-25 07:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 81,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17116991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemiss_m/pseuds/littlemiss_m
Summary: In fiction, true mates will always end up falling right into each other's arms as fireworks break out in the background. Unfortunately, such a thing is dream rather than reality, as Gladio and Prompto come to find out; yet, in the end, they can only trust and pray that love will prevail and wear smooth the thorny road between here and there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! Finally, a new longfic I'm super excited to be posting! It's gonna be a long one, but I'm almost halfway through writing it, so I'm gonna have updates for the next five weeks -- I'll put up a new chapter every Sunday.
> 
> A few notes before I go on:
> 
> 1) Prompto and Gladio will meet (and find out they are true mates) when Prompto is still in high school, i.e. when he's still a minor. As this is a thing that happens in the universe, there are laws in place to make sure everything stays appropriate; basically, they're not allowed to meet without a chaperone and any other contact is also frowned upon. They will be pining after each other at this stage, but there is NO underage content in this fic between the two of them.
> 
> 2) This fic deals very heavily with recovery from past childhood trauma. Prompto's been dealt a pretty shitty hand in life, but he's working really, really hard to overcome his past and to get better; for obvious reasons, this fic references past abuse.
> 
> 3) There will be a total of 13 chapters to this fic, though at least one of them is so long I'm choosing to split it into two updates to save y'all from the need to work through a 10k chapter ;D There will also be a two-chapter epilogue, which I will be posting separately to keep the rating down in this one -- the epilogue will contain sex and mpreg, which will be mentioned but not explicitly featured in this fic. There will be some fairly frank talk about sex, possibly a fade-to-black scene or two, but nothing more explicit than that. The mpreg part is simply a generic thing that exists in the universe and which can happen to people, including Prompto, but which will not be happening until the epilogue.
> 
> 4) The Gladio/OC and Prompto/OC content will be happening later on and will be fairly minor in the grand scheme of things -- it's mostly them learning how to date and socialize and that sorta stuff. There will be NO cheating or infidelity, even if the times will be pretty confusing for both of them.
> 
> That said -- please enjoy! <3

The school hadn't changed much since Gladio last had it checked out in preparation for the oncoming school year. Actually, it hadn't changed at all as far as he could tell – maybe the grass was a little shorter, the trees a little yellower, but the entire cursed schoolyard was filled with the obnoxious sounds of teenagers and that alone was enough to set him on the edge. A gaggle of girls making heart-eyes at him, some guys doing something dumb with one of the massive dumpsters by the parking lot. The loners and the cliques and the stupid fucking asshole who decided to forgot his lunch box in the fridge.

”Oi, Princess,” Gladio called out, gritting his teeth as he made his way to where Noctis was lounging under a massive maple tree. ”Am I your maid now or what?”

Noctis glanced at him before waving him closer. ”You're supposed to keep me safe,” he said, yawning, ”and I can't be safe if I'm starving.”

Gladio grunted and dropped the container down on Noctis' lap. ”So maybe take the time to actually check your fucking school bag in the morning,” he groused. ”Seriously, Noct, Ignis has been gone for one day–”

”I know, I know,” Noctis said, cutting him off. ”Hey, Prompto's coming over, let me introduce you real quick?”

Gladio rolled his eyes but acquiesced all the same. It was about time he met the kid, anyway – he'd seen pictures, of course, and could easily spot the blond boy quite literally bouncing towards them, grinning ear-to-ear as if it wasn't a Monday and a school day. Gladio definitely hadn't been that happy to be at school when he was younger.

”Chirpy,” he muttered under his breath. A rolling wind rustled the maple leaves above his head and brought with it the scent of newly presenting teens, of omegas on the cusp of their first heats and alphas preening for their attention, unable to yet control their pheromone output. Gladio wrinkled his nose, almost nauseous under the influx of too many mixing scents. ”Shit, is that why's Iggy's telling you to be more like him? 'Cause all you're ever doing is mucking around with a frown like someone just kicked your puppy?”

Noctis huffed. ”What the fuck, dude,” he said, and Gladio almost – almost – chided in with a reprimand of 'language,' ”who pissed in your corn flakes this morning?”

”Oh, I dunno,” Gladio ground back, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Prompto was almost up to them, now, though he'd slowed his pace down just a moment before. ”Probably some dumb princeling who can't even – hey, wait–”

The wind changed directions again, this time blowing in from behind Prompto's back, and Gladio faltered as a sweet odor much stronger than the usual omega scent reached him. The smell – like burnt caramel – tickled at his nose and he craned his neck to confirm the source, his nostrils flaring as his focus narrowed down to Prompto, the same Prompto who was staring back at him with his own nose high in the air, sniffing and scenting, the same Prompto whose expression twisted into one of absolute horror, the same Prompto who turned around and _fled_.

A yelp of ”nevermind!” was the only warning Gladio received, and at first, all he could do was give in to his instincts of _chasing_ , but a step in he already reigned himself in, forcibly digging his shoes into the grassy earth. The further Prompto ran, the more diluted his scent grew, until all that was left was the usual mix of teenagers coming to themselves. Gladio unclenched his teeth and took a step back.

”Holy shit,” Noctis gasped. He'd sat up properly at one point and was now gazing up at Gladio with impossibly large eyes. ”Holy fucking _shit_ , Gladio, was that – was that what I think that was – holy shit, holy shit, oh my fucking _Gods_ Gladio–”

Air rushed out of Gladio's lungs as he fought to control himself. By now, Prompto had long since disappeared into one of the school buildings, leaving behind nothing but a trail of students looking around in a mixture of worry and curiousity. ”Yeah,” Gladio eventually ground out, flexing his fingers while emotions more intense than anything he'd ever experienced before washed over him, ”yeah, that was – he's – he's my mate. Oh shit, _that's my mate_.”

The need to run off after Prompto was pure desperation coursing in his veins but Gladio stood still, trying to force his breathing into a more regulated rhythm. No-one ran from their true mate like that without a reason, and the quiet, scared 'nevermind' had felt like a knife stabbing deep in his heart. Realizing he was grinding his teeth together, Gladio relaxed his jaw and drew in a deep breath, letting the air escape through his mouth before turning back to Noctis, who had stood up and was now watching him with a nervous expression.

”Talk,” Gladio grunted, not yet calm enough to search for more articulate words. _Tell me what's happening_ , he was trying to ask, _why did he run, is it okay if I go after him_ – but Noctis seemed to understand him all the same, his muddy baby alpha scent fogging up Gladio's nostrils with cloying sweetness he hadn't yet mastered.

Noctis shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ”I don't – really know that much,” he said, fumbling with the buttons of his uniform jacket, ”like he's probably got anxiety, yeah, but – he's not really okay? I think he's still hiding the worst of it from me, 'cause it's not like we've known each other for that long, but–”

He cut himself off and Gladio sighed, rubbing at his temples. ”Should I leave him alone?” he asked, ”or can I go find him?”

There was no need to point out the pure urgency he felt as his instincts screamed for him to do something. Noctis hesitated for a moment, long enough that Gladio felt his stomach begin to drop, a slow and seemingly endless glide into nothingness – but then Noctis shrugged sheepishly and turned to pick up his bag from where it still lay against the trunk of the maple tree.

”I'm pretty sure I know where he is,” Noctis spoke slowly, causing bright-lit sparks of hope to surge in Gladio's chest. ”I'll, uh, talk to him? For you? And then if he's okay, I guess I'll just. Fuck off for a moment.”

The relief that washed over Gladio was so strong it surprised him but he dipped his chin in ackowledgement all the same, clapped a hand over Noctis' shoulder in a silent thanks as they began to make their way towards the building Prompto had disappeared into. The sudden rush of hormones coursing in his veins rivaled his first rut, the confusion and instability of a presenting teen, and Gladio could only swallow, swallow, swallow in an attempt to clear the last of caramel still clinging to his nostrils.

Ignoring the looks from those around them, they made their way to one of the older buildings on the campus. Gladio followed Noctis through a massive pair of doors so heavy it took Noctis all of his bodyweight to hoist one open, then down a corridor and up a wide marble staircase. Though there were students and staff milling about every corner of the building, the scent of dark caramel still lingered in the air, growing stronger and stronger until Noctis stopped in front of a door.

”Wait here,” he said, refusing to look up at Gladio, and then disappeared into the room, leaving Gladio alone on the thankfully empty corridor. As Noctis opened the door, a thick cloud of pheromones billowed out through the thin gap, consisting of the burnt caramel Gladio was already falling in love with, and the darker edge of a panicking omega.

It took all of Gladio's self-control to remain in the hallway. Teeth clenched together, he leaned against the wall next to the door, arms crossed over his chest in defiance. At first, he tried to keep on breathing through his mouth in an attempt to stave off Prompto's – _his mate's_ – scent, but it just brought the taste directly to his tongue and made it cling to his palate like thick, gooey toffee. Scowling, he stared at the old clock hung across the hallway, watching the minute hand tick on in slow torture.

Twelve minutes later, the door creaked open, startling Gladio who had been so focused on self-control that he'd almost forgotten to expect something to actually happen. Heart beating in his chest he twisted to the side, almost lunging at Noctis to shake answers out of him; it must have shown on his face because Noctis stepped back as soon as he saw Gladio.

”You can go in,” Noctis spoke quietly, moving to the side to allow Gladio into the room. ”I'm gonna be waiting here, but, uh – you can just. Talk to him and shit. I don't know.”

Only hearing the permission to enter, Gladio breezed in through the door, then halted as soon as he was inside, realizing his intensity would likely just spook Prompto anew. Taking a deep breath, he cast a glance around the old music room, the chairs piled high against one wall, the dusty instruments under the windows, and finally the stage on which Prompto was sitting. Clearing his throat, Gladio approached the other, barely able to hear anything over the thudding of his heart and the rush of his blood.

Prompto was the first to speak. ”Sorry about that,” he murmured, a twitchy smile splayed on his lips; Gladio's heart ached over the sight. ”Didn't mean to–” He cut himself off, sighed, and patted the stage by his side.

”'S fine,” Gladio conceded, slowly walking towards the stage. When Prompto neither resisted his approach nor showed signs of further panic, Gladio sat down on the edge of the stage, a little distance away from Prompto. ”Sorry for spooking you, dude.”

Prompto snorted a laugh and shook his head, though the smile didn't disappear from his face; if anything, it grew stronger, less nervous. ”Yeah, that happens,” he said, shrugging. ”Did – did Noct say anything?”

Gladio hesitated for a moment before answering. ”Not really,” he answered, twiddling with his fingers in the V of his legs. ”Only that he thinks you've got anxiety.”

His words drew out a loud, hearty laugh that seemed out of place considering the red of Prompto's eyes and the splotches of old tears on his cheeks. ”Yeah, well, that's not exactly a secret,” he huffed once the worst of the laughing fit was over, then quickly sobered up. ”I'm... not exactly what people would call functional, you know.” He scratched at the back of his neck as his head bent forward in clear embarrassment, and Gladio wanted nothing more but to take him in his arms and hold him there until all the sorrows were gone, but – he couldn't. Not yet. Not when they'd only just met, not when Prompto was three years his junior and still a minor, but the age-old instinct to protect and guard couldn't be assuaded with simple logic and law.

”That doesn't have to be a bad thing,” Gladio spoke after a moment of pondering, unsure of what would be the best reaction or how to help this stranger he'd only just met. To his relief, Prompto shot him a smile – not as bright as it could have been, but honest all the same – and kicked his feet out.

”I guess so,” he said, speaking in a tone Gladio couldn't quite decipher before shaking his head and twisting until he sat facing Gladio. ”You're, uh, you're Noct's Shield, right?”

Gladio grimaced, suddenly realizing he hadn't even introduced himself properly. ”Uh, yeah,” he agreed, brushing at his hair before he could stop himself. ”Gladiolus Amicitia. Gladio.”

Prompto nodded, looking just as flustered as Gladio felt. ”Uh, yeah, I know.” A pause. ”I'm Prompto. Argentum.”

A stiffled giggle tore free past Gladio's piched lips, his previous embarrassment easily transforming into something bordering on hysteric laughter. A few feet away from him, Prompto was mimicking his expression, his lips pressed into a thin line as his shoulders shook and trembled under the pressure of not giving in to laughter, but another moment later saw both of them breaking down into loud cackles. Gasping for breath, Gladio wiped at his watering eyes.

It took a while before they were able to look at each other without the laughter starting anew, but eventually they managed, the cackling dying into quiet giggle-snorts and breathless huffs. Gladio pressed his palms flat on his face and breathed deep until his shoulders were still once more, and when he finally turned back to Prompto, he was glad to see his resolve hold.

”Soo...” he drawled out, unsure of how to continue. Prompto seemed to be struggling with the same idea, though, and just shrugged.

”We're, uh, we're supposed to get registered, right?” he murmured, twisting one of the blond locks falling on his face. ”Also, you're, like, someone important and–”

”Prompto,” Gladio cut in, grimacing as he finally spotted the actual anxiety under the frazzled nerves. ”We, uh – I'm not, uh – I'm not Noct or anything–”

” _Just his Shield, Ifrit fuck me_ ,” Prompto murmured under his breath, barely audible for Gladio to hear. Gladio paused in what he was trying to say and cast him a look before continuing.

”We've gotta register at the Citadel, 'cause only authorized personnel is allowed to touch my file, but, uh. It's not like there's any actual obligations for you to actually to come live with me when you're eighteen or anything.”

He finished his words with a small, self-conscious shrug, but without taking his eyes off of Prompto, who sat staring down at his knees with his lips pinched together. Gladio bit back a sigh and leaned forward until his elbows rested on his thighs, knowing that no matter how he sugarcoated the matter, there was no denying the implications of his name and status.

”Is there – I know there's a time limit to the registration, and that it's not anytime soon, but like – does it matter when we're coming over?” Prompto asked after a long silence, fumbling with his words as his fingers twisted onto knots. ”'Cause my – my adoptive father works during the week, and he can't really take a day off without, uh, a good reason. A bigger reason.”

Though he wanted to, Gladio said nothing about Prompto thinking finding his true mate was not worth a day off; instead, he straightened his back and cast the other a soft smile. ”The Citadel runs around the clock, Blondie,” he said, the nickname slipping from his mouth before his brain could run interference. ”Tomorrow or the day after is fine – sorry, any weekend is good, except when there's a formal event, I can get you the list if you want–”

”Tomorrow should be fine,” Prompto rushed to cut in, his voice quiet and shy. Gladio halted in his words, aching to soothe whatever was wrong with Prompto, but again – he couldn't. ”Is there – at what time should we...”

”Office hours run from seven till six but I think we can get one of the nighshifters to do the paperowork if–”

”Noon?”

”If you – oh, noon is good. Do you – have you been to the Citadel before?”

”Oh, um, my kindergarten class visited the throne room once, and I go to the museum like, once a month, but, uh–”

”I'll have someone meet you at the front gates, is that okay?”

”That's okay, I'm sorry I–”

”No, it's fine, it's a massive place–”

”Yes, but–”

They both paused to stare at each other with their mouths agape. Gladio was the first to come to his senses, another snorty laughter bubbling out of his throat as he shook his head. Next to him, Prompto had pressed his palms to his cheeks, though it did nothing to cover the blush on his face.

”We'll be there at noon tomorrow,” Prompto mumbled, smiling shyly but refusing to meet Gladio's eyes. ”Sharp.”

Another small huff of laughter later Gladio nodded and pulled out his phone to mark the time on his calender; he doubted he could ever forget about what was to come next, but the habit of updating his schedule had been ingrained into his very soul long before the advent of smartphones, and so it was one he couldn't just deviate from. Lost in the stream of characters under his thumbs, Gladio didn't notice Prompto shifting around nervously until he heard him clear his throat.

”So, about that – me not being exactly functional thing,” Prompto spoke as soon as he saw Gladio look up, his words jilted but not too strained, too forced.

”You don't have to tell me,” Gladio hurried to cut in, glancing down at his phone to confirm the calendar had updated before turning all his attention to Prompto, who looked at him wearing a smile sadder than any Gladio had ever seen before.

”I know,” Prompto said, voice a tone higher than normal, almost ethereal in the way it cut through the air between them; ”I know, but – I need you to know what's going on, but it's not something I want to actually talk about.”

The words lit a fear inside Gladio, a clutch of anxiety and discomfort as he pondered about what it was that Prompto wanted him to learn. Prompto remained silent, shyly watching Gladio from underneath his eyelashes and the fall of his hair on his forehead, and eventually Gladio realized he had no choice but to agree.

”So what do you want me to...” he asked, trailing off slowly. Prompto flashed him a brief smile and nodded.

”I know the Crownsguard did a file on me when I started hanging out with Noct,” he said. ”And your dad's, like, the head of the 'Guard, so you could – you could probably get your hands on it?”

As soon as Prompto had mentioned the file, Gladio's stomach dropped. Though he'd been made aware of Prompto's existence as soon as the blond had entered Noctis' life, he hadn't been involved in the background checks beyond being asked if there was anything he knew about Prompto, or if he had met him yet. It was his dad who'd had the file ordered, and his dad – along with Regis and someone from the security team – who had seen the contents of it.

Both Gladio and Ignis had been purposefully left in the dark, partly because they'd been minors when the investigation took place, and partly because Clarus and Regis both felt that in the case Prompto's intentions were honest, then it would be better for Gladio and Ignis to meet him on at least vaguely equal terms.

”You want me to read your file,” Gladio repeated slowly, staring down at Prompto who shrugged and continued twiddling with his hands. ”That's–”

”It's nothing bad,” Prompto cut in, his tone firm despite its thinness, and Gladio tried to feel relief like he'd already tried to remind himself that his father would never have signed the background checks if something was actually wrong with them, but despite his best attempts, his chest remained hollow. ”It's just – I've got an adoptive father, yeah? And he's not the first one. There's – there's a lot of shit in there that I _need_ you to know if we're – if we're gonna be anything more than casual friends, and I can't just talk about it. Just – just _this_ is bordering on too much.”

As he spoke, stress began to seep both into his words and the pheromones he was putting out, until Gladio could both hear and taste the distress on his tongue. He glowered in concern, chin dipping low against his chest as he once again fought the urge to protect Prompto from the world. The mention of multiple adoptive parents painted an ugly picture, one without love but with many an injustice, and already Gladio's mind was busy putting together the most hideous story it could imagine.

In the end, Gladio had to force himself to speak. ”I'm sorry,” he said, his tongue thick in his mouth, ”I didn't – I didn't want to make you feel bad.”

Prompto smiled. ”Buddy, everything makes me feel bad these days,” he tried to joke, but the laughter in his voice fell flat in Gladio's ears. ”It's nothing new. I just – I gotta fix some shit, and I can't do that if I gotta talk about it all the time. It's – it really is something I think you need to know, so...”

He trailed off just as Gladio sighed into his palms, face pressed into the flat of his hands as he fought to calm his frazzled instincts. ”I'll take a look at the file,” he murmured eventually, glancing sideaways at Prompto, ”but only if you're 100% serious about it. There's a lot more there than just – whatever it is you want me to know and–”

”–and it should be pretty fucking obvious which part of it I'm talking about, once you get an actual look at the contents,” Prompto finished for him, then pausing as a puzzled expression spread on his face. ”Actually, no, I don't – I'm not sure what the file is gonna look like? Is it even a file?”

Gladio laughed. ”It is a file,” he confirmed, grinning at the embarrassed blush that had taken over Prompto's face in a flash, ”with a table of contents and all. I – I'll take your word on spotting the big deal when I see it.”

Prompto nodded. A silence fell over them, Gladio fiddling his thumbs to the quiet thuds of Prompto kicking his feet, both of them clearly out of things to say. In the end, it was Prompto who sighed and stilled his feet. ”So... Tomorrow at twelve, at the Citadel gates?” he confirmed. At Gladio's nod, he smiled. ”Kay. I, uh – will you be there?”

”Uh, sure, unless you don't want me to,” Gladio answered, blinking almost owlishly, surprised over his surprise. ”Do you – want to meet or something?”

”I mean,” Prompto mumbled, swaying sideways, still full of nervous energy his twitching feet hadn't cleared, ”I'd – like to talk about, about things, maybe? Like, well, the file. Y'know. About – whatever the fuck is gonna happen from now on.”

Barely surpassing a grimace, Gladio nodded. ”Yeah, that's – fair enough. Guess I ought to learn something about you that's not your previous health records or school grades, eh?”

To his relief, Prompto burst out in laughter over the words. ”Like you're one to talk,” he chortled, doubling over as he cluthed at his stomach with tears in his eyes, ”I – I know your fucking name and that you're Noct's Shield, and that you've got a little sister who's got a crush on Noct, but that's like–”

Unable to hold himself back anymore, Gladio joined Prompto in laughing, already at stitches and cackling almost hysterically as he thought of their first meeting. What a way to meet one's true mate, Gladio thought as he reached to dry his eyes; sitting there in the old music room, it was hard to think of a meeting more awkward, more anxious than theirs had proven out to be. It was nothing like the romances from Gladio's favorite novels, or even the laugh-track jokes from TV comedies, yet... now that it was ending, in spite of all the negative things he had learned of, Gladio found himself thinking he wouldn't exchange the day for anything else.

* * *

Once at the Citadel, Gladio wasted no time in heading towards his father's office, though he didn't exactly hurry his steps either. He nodded polite greetings to the people he passed and tried to pretend he hadn't just had his entire world flipped upside down, tried to ignore the looks and subtly flaring nostrils of those around him. On the outside, he was calm – he felt it, a layer of hardened wax around his being – but on the inside, he was a mess.

Like expected, he found Clarus in the office reading crasses perched on top of his nose and a stack of papers spread out before. At Gladio's entrance, he tried to hide the pen he'd been twirling in his hand – the end of it full of bitebarks, chewed to the point where the plastic was starting to splinter – but instead of his usual mockery, Gladio just sighed and made for the snacks cabinet in the corner of the room.

Clarus' startled mumbles quieted before Gladio had flicked the water kettle on. ”What has happened, son?” he asked. Gladio shrugged, his back to his father, and shuffled through the variety of teas in search of his favorite. ”Are you alright? Or is it Noctis?”

Gladio shook his head to the sound of papers being pushed together, the thwack of a stack smacking against a wooden table. ”I met my true mate,” he said simply, tearing into the paper bag protecting the pouch of tea. The kettle reached the pre-set temperature and turned off with a click that wasn't quite muffled by the bubbles of boiling water.

Though Clarus remained wordless for a moment, the quiet, stalled gasp at Gladio's declaration told him enough. It went from the instinctual _oh, that's amazing_ , to _oh-shit-what's-wrong_ , from joy to wary caution. Gladio dumped the tea bag in a mug, poured in the water, and took it to the desk with him.

”I see,” Clarus spoke slowly. ”And how did that go?”

Gladio dunked the tea bag in and out of the mug until the color had grown as dark as possible, then left the drink to stew and slumped into the plush velvet of the arm chair. ”It's Prompto Argentum,” he said, not missing the wince that Clarus bit back at the last possible second. ”But pretty – okay enough, I guess.”

Clarus hummed over a long inhale, plucked off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Whatever it was that Prompto had asked Gladio to find out, Clarus already knew.

”I suppose,” he murmured, shaking his head as a small smile appeared on his face. He looked directly at Gladio, who tried to not to shrink under the gentle gaze, and reached over to pat Gladio's knee. ”I _am_ happy for you, son.”

Gladio's resulting nod was more of an attempt to hide his warming face than a casual ackowledgement of his father's words. Already the room had began to smell like bergamot and oranges, a steamy tickle at the tip of Gladio's nose, and he wished he could just chug down the drink to give himself a moment longer, but no dice.

”He wants me to look at the file you put together when you did his background checks,” he sighed, brushing a palm across the short crop of his hair. Across he desk, he could see his father's eyes bulging out of his head over the words. ”Yeah, I know.”

Clearly hesitating, Clarus leaned back in his chair as far as the springs would allow him to. ”I don't know if that's such a good idea...” he protested. ”There's a lot of personal information in there–”

”Yeah, shit he thinks I need to know but he doesn't want to talk about,” Gladio cut in, giving his father a hard stare brimming with frustration. ”Something about his adoptive families. I don't know.”

Unable to hold himself back anymore, Gladio reached for the mug, dropping the soggy tea bag on the saucer before bringing the heated porcelain to his mouth. It burned, still a few degrees on the higher side of bearably hot, but he paid the discomfort little attention as he sipped at the drink while glancing at his father.

Clarus sat with his palms pressed against his face, a grim pinch to his lips where they peeked out from underneath the cover. Gladio wrapped both his hands around the mug and lowered it to his lap, trying to find comfort in the searing heat while the remnants of the tea still burned at his throat. Eventually Clarus gave in and sighed, shaking his head as he sat up again.

”Did you get registered yet?” he asked, almost absent-minded as he grabbed his phone and tapped in a text message – a specific file request, Gladio knew.

”He's coming over tomorrow with his – adoptive father,” Gladio answered readily enough, somewhat glad that Clarus had agreed to showing the file without a bigger fight, yet also anxious as he waited for it to be brought out. ”At noon.”

To his surprise, Clarus snorted at his response, a wry grin splaying on his lips. He set down the phone and twisted the chair sideways until they sat face-to-face. ”You have no idea who that father is, do you,” he teased, leaving Gladio speechless. ”Oh, Gladio, Gladio, Gladio...”

”What?” Gladio grunted, dread and curiosity mixing up in his chest until they threatened to brust out through his ribs. ”Am I supposed to know the guy?”

Clarus laughed jovially, heartily, then leaned his head against a fisted hand before answering. ”It's Leonis,” he said, smirking as Gladio felt his stomach drop, ”Cor Leonis.”

Reeling over the news, Gladio stared at his father in open shock. ”Leonis,” he repeated. ”That Leonis. The one.”

” _The one_ ,” Clarus agreed. ”You're in for a world of _fun_ , son.”

Gladio could only shake his head in disbelief as the shock twined with the pre-existing mess of emotions he'd been fighting ever since Prompto first ran from him. The hurt of being left behind, the anxiety of not understanding why his mate did what he did, the dread rocking a storm in his stomach as he mulled over Prompto's life... those combined with his instincts had already left him a twitchy mess ready to growl and snap, but now they were all dulled by his speechlessness.

The Cor Leonis was his mate's adoptive father.

Luckily for Gladio, the file arrived before he could work himself into overdrive, a swift rap of knuckles on the office door signaling the archivist's arrival. Clarus called for them to enter, and after a stiff bow, two polite nods, and Clarus' signature on a piece of paper, the young beta left the way he'd come.

Gladio's stomach was churning so bad he felt ready to puke.

Under his stunned, dreadful gaze, Clarus took the file and opened the seal on the box guarding the actual contents, easily folding out the cardboard wings until all that remained was a stack of papers with a blank sheet on the top. Gladio watched, his heart thudding against his throat, as Clarus rested his fingers on either side of the stack – and then, nothing.

”Dad?” Gladio croaked, suddenly nervous; he had thought, after he'd first agreed to Prompto's request, that he'd be able to withstand whatever the contents of the file turned out to be. Now that he was sitting here in his father's office with the file finally open before him, he wasn't so sure anymore.

Clearing his throat, Clarus tapped at the stack of papers. ”Would you be okay with the – slightly abbreviated version?” he asked, voice tentative, almost pleading for an affirmative answer. ”The details can get quite... ugly at times, and I imagine that the basic idea of what has happened in Mr. Argentum's life would be more than enough to convey the full... well, tragedy of it.”

Gladio nodded, his lips sucked in and pinched tight against each other, and Clarus began the story. In his low, calm, almost emotionless voice he spun the tale of a little boy born to an immigrant woman in the very aftermath of a decades-old war, the mother soon lost and the boy shipped to the nearest orphanage and then the arms of a temporary foster family. His first adoptive parents didn't last long, for reasons Clarus did not specify but Gladio could imagine all the same, but the second couple held onto him long and hard, until a car accident tore them apart anew. By then, the boy had grown too old – too foreign, too broken, Gladio added where Clarus once again remained silent, clutching at the cooling mug of tea in his hands – and the homes that accepted him turned out temporary, short-lived, the explanations swallowed by Clarus' filter.

Gladio knew, objectively, that even though Insomnia had one of the best welfare systems in the world, it still wasn't always enough: the facts had been driven into his head the second he began to understand the consequences of wealth and power, at an age many others may have thought too young. Their poorest may have been richer than those in the areas worst ravaged by the war, their chances of acquiring education and employment and a life of an average quality much higher than they once had been, but the safety net wasn't impenetrable. Sometimes the knots unraveled, sometimes the holes ended larger than the sorry beings they were meant to catch, and at other times, those very people surpassed the net entirely; and Prompto, with his blond hair and freckled Niff skin, with no love and no stability, was clearly one of those people.

Clarus continued his speech a moment longer. He put emphasis on a childhood full of neglect and a chain of broken relationships – the implications of which cast an icy spell over Gladio's skin, enough to tell him _this_ was the reason he was here listening to the tale – and very subtly, carefully, hinted at worse offences. Then, just as sharply he had began, he turned over a loose sheet of paper and stopped.

”Well, that's that, then,” he said, sounding almost surprised as he cleared his throat and flipped past the remaining papers. ”The rest – well, there's no reason for me to tell you about his school history, I imagine, so – let us just stop here.”

Gladio grunted and picked up his mug, swallowing the cooled-down tea all at once. It was bitter, too strong, the taste of it ruined by low temperature, yet he needed to do something to escape the grief clutching at his heart. Across the desk, his father sighed and stopped in the middle of putting the file back together.

”Gladio, I... I hope I do not have to explain the... implications of his childhood, the consequences of it,” Clarus spoke, an unfamiliar tone of saddness in his voice. ”I know you're both very young still – and that's something to talk about, later on, preferably with Dr. Leonis present – but Mr. Argentum has... a long recovery ahead of him, and you should not place any expectations on your relationship with him.”

The mug clacked against the table louder than Gladio had intended it to and he grimaced, the previous scowl leaving his face in a flash. He wanted to glower, to tell his father he wasn't dumb, that he knew that true mates in real life were a wholly different issue from the true mates of fiction, but doing so he would only have proven Clarus' comment over his youth to be true.

”I know,” Gladio returned eventually, gritting his teeth together in slowly growing frustration. ”I know, dad, I'm not – I'm not some dumb knothead alpha.”

Clarus deigned him with no answer, and Gladio felt shame before he'd even finished speaking. ”Dr. Leonis will be accompanying him tomorrow, yes?” Clarus asked instead, quiet and normal, set to keep things moving forward when Gladio wasn't capable of doing it himself. He sighed and crossed his fingers under his chin, elbows set on the dark green writing pad smudged with ink stains. ”I... know the feeling of meeting your true mate is one of a kind, Gladio. I know how easy it is to get lost in the instincts trying to guide you and Mr. Argentum together. I know it all, Gladio.”

As he spoke, Gladio returned to staring at his lap and his hands, at his shaking fingers and his boots planted firmly against the utilitarian carpetry. His memories of his mother were rare and few, already faded and worn under the course of time, but the one thing he doubted – prayed – he would never forget was how well she and Clarus had gone together. Gladio still remembered their combined scents, alpha on alpha, strong and powerful – and then his mom's passing and her waning scent, mating bonds fading and Clarus' own scent returning to what it had been long before Gladio was born to the world.

”I just–” Clarus continued, words turning into yet another sigh. ”You are the older one, Gladio, and also the one with a more – _stable_ upbringing, so to say. I am so extremely sorry to see another duty piled on your shoulders when you are still so young, but Gladio – it is on you to keep things appropriate.”

Gladio knew – had known from the moment he'd realized that Prompto was the same age as Noctis, and therefore still a minor. Gladio's eighteenth birthday had passed with little fanfare, nothing much changing beyond the fact that he had gone to bed too young to drive or vote, and had woken up the next day old enough to buy beer and get married. His twenty-first birthday would be the important one, when he'd finally swear himself to Noctis in a formal ceremony, but his eighteenth... he'd turned an adult, yes, but hadn't quite felt like one. Not until now.


	2. Chapter 2, part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At home, Prompto waits for Cor to get off work and tries to hold himself together to the best of his ability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: massive thanks for all the people who showed their interest in this fic after the first week! Because this fic is both Promptio and a/b/o with a whole bunch of trigger warnings thrown in, I had assumed that not a lot of people would look at this (it happens, no big deal lol, I know this isn't to everyone's tastes) so seeing it get so much good attention really surprised me! Massive thanks to everyone; I hope you'll all enjoy this and all the other chapters to come <3
> 
> Secondly: this is, in fact, just the first half of the second chapter. The whole thing is some 10k and I didn't really like the idea of putting up something that big, especially as all the other chapters I've written are around 5-6k, so I split it into two. The next part will go up next Sunday as usual.
> 
> Thirdly, and most importantly: this is my last update of 2018. I posted my first thing (the first chapter of Home from Gralea) mid-January, and unless my math is broken, this update should bring my total world count just past 300,000 words -- all in the space of one year! This fandom is incredible and *nothing* this past year has brought me more joy than all the love y'all have been showing me. You've left me hundreds of kudos and comments, thousands of hits, and so much cheer and writing motivation I can't even begin to thank you all. Thanks to everyone's support, I've had a brilliant writing year -- which, after nearly a decade of writer's block, was not an easy feat! Anyways, just. Thanks for the love, y'all. Best fandom is best fandom.

The house was quiet when Prompto stepped over the treshold, the rush of the street gone the second the door closed behind him. One hand testing the door handle to make sure it had locked, he reached for the security pad to key in his code, sighing in relief when it flashed him a green light; only then did he begin untying his school shoes. The day had left him more nervous than he'd been in a while, anxiety a constant pressure between his lungs and ribcage, his skin ablaze and itching as if something was trying to break through it. Biting down on his lower lip, Prompto pushed his shoes behind the sliding mirror door and moved further down the entrance, stopping to drop his keys in a glass bowl under another, smaller mirror.

The house was quiet and Prompto knew he was alone – it was Friday and Cor wouldn't return till later – but still he feared, kept an ear out for any suspicious sounds. He used his fingernails to loosen a cartoonish chocobo magnet from the mirror's bottom right corner, then transferred it to the upper left corner to mark his return; its twin, a purple coeurl from the same series, still waited at the bottom of the mirror. Cor wasn't home, nor was there anyone else in the red-brick townhouse – but the rooms and floors were too many, the corners so numerous Prompto couldn't shake the feeling of something lurking in the shadows.

School bag hoisted over his shoulder, he made his way through the formal sitting room and into the kitchen to find something to snack on. There wasn't much else on the ground floor, only a small toilet and a dining hall too large for two people. The little, fenced backyard was just enough to host Cor's prized chillies and peppers, which were all turning various shades of reds and greens and yellows under the last of the autumn sun. When Prompto passed the large Altissian doors, he checked the handle and smiled as he gazed over the small garden. Why Cor, a man who had guests once a year if that, had felt the need to buy an apartment this large was something Prompto would never know, but even he had to admit, it had its good sides.

An apple and a yoghurt cup in hand, Prompto made his way upstairs, peeking through the doorways on the second floor to make sure the rooms – all of them Cor's, a master suite with its own bath, an office, and the guest bedroom that might just as well have been nailed shut considering how rarely anyone ever ventured in – were empty before dragging his feet up to the third floor.

Like the second floor was all Cor's, the third was all Prompto's. Here, he had his own bedroom and an ensuite, both with locking doors, and another two rooms converted into an arts studio with a view of the backyard and the park behind the building. When Cor had brought in a renovations crew to tear down the wall between what had previously been two spare bedrooms, Prompto had watched from the furthest corner of the hallway, his mouth agape and salt burning at his eyes. Now, some twelve months later, things were slowly starting to feel normal – or as close to normal as he was capable of experiencing.

When he'd first moved in with Cor, he'd been so weak that walking up the stairs had left him shaking and panting, a break needed on every landing. These days, the stairs still brought a tight burning to the backs of his knees, still made him curse their existence more often than not, but they no longer made him ill. Once on his floor, Prompto stepped into his arts room to check if his latest oil painting had dried sufficiently – not yet – before doubling back into the hallway and then his own room.

He left the door open. Doors were still hard, sometimes, both needed to protect him and his privacy but also making it easier for others to spy on him, to stand guard where he couldn't see, to lock him in and leave him there. Prompto shuddered as painful memories rushed over him, hugged himself for a second with a determined set to his jaw while he held his breath for a moment. Then, he set his snacks on his desk, turned on the reading light and skittered off to his bathroom.

When he returned, he was wearing a pair of sweats and a loose shirt, fresh from a shower and no longer smelling of school and the other students. He sat on his desk chair and grabbed the apple, biting onto it while he kicked the chair into a spin that slowed before it reached a full circle, then kicked again, and again, and again, pushing the chair into a carousel that left his mind dizzy and unfocused.

He very, very, very carefully did not think about Gladio.

* * *

An hour later saw Prompto still seated at his desk, physics homework spread open before him and a series of doodles lining the page his equations should've been on. He'd read through the chapter as supposed, his mind wandering, but soon he'd lost his concentration for good which resulted in him stumbling even in the first questions, which were so easy he should've been able to answer them in his sleep.

Eventually he couldn't take it anymore and pushed his chair back with a sigh, reaching one hand to turn off the reading light while his other picked the empty yoghurt cup and the apple carcass. Pocketing his phone, he made his way all the way to the ground floor, where he discarded the apple into the compost bin and gave the plastic cup a quick rinse before tossing it in the correct box. Despite having more than enough things to do, his mind and body were both buzzing loud enough to make him feel like he was floating, yet the tightening nerves and growing anxiety kept him grounded, warning him of dark figures in the shadows and predators behind every corner.

Squaring his shoulders, Prompto walked through the entirety of the first floor. At the staircase, he hesitated for a moment before heading downstairs into the basement, the TV room and the gym behind it, before doubling back up. He stopped at every open door on Cor's floor, heartbeat so loud he could almost taste the blood, and then moved another floor up. His own rooms were both easier and more difficult to accept, to secure, but he made his way through them. A moment later, he stood by the stairs once more, staring up at the attic.

Twenty-four steps later, he was breathing dust. He turned the lights on, glanced around the room – the shadows almost alive, his a long stretch from the door towards to the window – and took in the boxes piled high against the walls, the occasional oddity here and there. Holding his breath, Prompto swallowed, shut the lights, stepped out, closed the door, counted the next twenty-four steps down and tried to pretend everything was okay.

Though the staircase was built to look like it floated in the air, a few feet off the thick wall muffling the rush-hour traffic on the street on its other side, there was a spot on the third floor that wasn't visible from the outside. Prompto sat down on the landing, his sock-clad feet on the last step, and leaned an arm against the balustrade by his side while gazing through the massive windows lining the wall, each of them almost as tall as the floors had height. Thin, billowy white curtains covered the windows on all three floors, fixed to the frames both above and below the glass.

Logically, Prompto knew it was enough to obstruct the view from the ouside; yet still he waited in his trusted spot, where the simple height of the floor and the corner of the stairs kept him invisible. Chin pressed into his arms folded over his knees, he kept his gaze on the busy street below and waited.

* * *

It took just over an hour before Prompto spotted Cor's midnight blue car sliding into its spot in front of the house. Curled up against the balustrade, he watched Cor get out of the car, closing one door before opening another one to retrieve two bags of groceries and their weekly Galahdian takeout boxes shoved into a third plastic bag. It would've been nice of Prompto to rush downstairs, to hold the door open for Cor and to offer to take some of the bags, but – he didn't, simply curled into a smaller ball when Cor disappeared from view under the small canopy covering their front door. The click-ick of a lock being opened echoed in the stairway, then the faint beep of the security system.

Prompto waited. He could no longer see Cor from where he sat, but he heard the mirror door sliding aside, the clack of Cor's boots in the entrance way and then a soft shuffle towards the kitchen, the plastic rattle of cheap grocery chain bags. With a quiet gasp of pain, Prompto tugged his fingertips from his mouth, glancing at the newly chipped nails with a frown before twisting his hands into his armpits.

He couldn't wait any longer, not without risking Cor finding him on the stairs. Brain full of numb buzzing, the squeeze of tears threatening to slip free, Prompto stood up and padded his way downstairs quiet as only he could be, his socks barely making any noise at all on the old, carpeted wood. In the small lobby, he glanced at the front door on instict, almost marched up to it to test the handle, but the lights on the security pad were all green and he had to – _had_ to – trust them even when trusting something other than himself was as good as impossible.

Cor was in the kitchen when Prompto meandered up to the doorway, standing at the fridge with one of the grocery bags on the counter by his side and the other still waiting at his feet. For a brief flash of a fear, Prompto stared at the expansive stretch of Cor's back and debated running upstairs, hiding in his room for all the new mornings to come, but – he didn't, instead stepping forward and forward until he was at the island where the bag of takeout sat waiting.

”Oh, Prompto,” Cor said, glancing over his shoulder when Prompto bumped his heel on the tiled floor a little louder to signal his presence, ”there you – what's wrong?”

Like on a clue, Cor paused half-way in placing a carton of milk in the fridge and turned around, his nostrils wide open as he scented the air. Prompto shrunk under the gaze, rubbed his left feet on the floor while twisting his hands together, and said nothing as he srugged and began pulling greasy, fragrant cartons of extra-spicy Galahdian street food out of the plastic bag. He could feel Cor's eyes on him for a moment longer but eventually the man sighed and returned to unpacking their groceries, but not without releasing a puff of soft omega pheromones into the air.

They finished their tasks at nearly the same time, Prompto digging into one of the drawers for paper napkins when Cor placed a bottle of soda and two tall glasses on the island. ”I'll be right back,” he spoke before disappearing into the bathroom, any sounds of sloshing water thankfully muted by the thick brick walls between the kitchen, the hallway, and then the toilet itself. Soon after Cor's exit, Prompto found the packet of napkins and set it on the table.

He wanted to run.

Instead, he sat down on what had become his bar stool, folded open the carton of chicken dumplings, and shoved one into his mouth before Cor could try to insist on splitting them equally. Sometimes their similar tastes in food were a blessing – a gift, truly, Cor always willing to help expand Prompto's dietary experiences – but then there were the times like these that bordered on a fight over the best treats.

By the time Cor returned, Prompto was chewing through his fourth dumpling, his cheeks bulging with food like those of a chipmunk. Cor paused to stare at him, his eyes narrowing as if he knew – and he did – what Prompto had been up to while he was gone, and despite the fact that Cor had never once given him a reason to fear, Prompto felt needles prickling at his neck and the urgent need to clutch the carton of food against his chest, to defend it with his body if push came to shove.

It didn't – it never did, no matter how many times Prompto froze at the table, or how many times he found himself wanting to hoard all the food available. Cor just sighed, pinched at the bridge of his nose, and dragged himself to the other bar stool set diagonally across from Prompto. ”I should just ask for double the dumplings the next time,” he grumbled, voice lacking heat but not misery. He snapped a pair of wooden chopsticks apart and dove for the stir-fried noodles, pouring almost half of it on his plate before reaching for the roasted pork. ”I'll be here when you're ready to talk about it.”

Prompto nodded, an embarrassed flush on his face, and proceeded to stuff another dumpling into his mouth. They ate in silence only broken by the occasional sniffle of chili and ginger kicking in, Prompto shoveling food into his mouth at a rate that was almost discomforting, leaving his belly heavy and bloated without fully sating his hunger. Every now and then, he'd glance at Cor through his eyelashes, usually catching him focused on his food and only meeting his eyes once or twice – yet each time Prompto _did_ realize they were looking at each other, he ducked his head and grabbed his soda, almost spilling it because of how badly his hands trembled.

He felt nauseous, but soon he was done with his portion of the meal, and though he could have stuffed more grub into his stomach – had done so, before, when food was not something stable and constant – he didn't. Instead he fiddled with his chopsticks, words on his tongue but no sound in his throat, then put away the splitering wood in favor of grabbing a napkin and carefully dragging it over the curves of each and every one of his ten fingers. Across the island, Cor remained silent, but a pressure like an approaching storm hung between them and so the silence wasn't any better than the alternative.

”I met my true mate today,” Prompto spoke eventually, giving in. He kept his eyes on the napkin, folded and unfolded it, carefully tore into a corner and then another one as he tried to remind himself that Cor was Cor and not anyone else. It didn't help much at all.

Cor's eyes widened barely perceptibly, his eyebrows raising a fraction before he schooled his expression back into neutrality. Prompto thought of the two doors on the floor and the number of steps it would take to get through them.

”I see,” Cor said eventually, in the tone that was bordering on too neutral, too emotionless, the one Prompto couldn't even begin to decipher. ”And how did that go?”

Prompto dropped the shredded napkin on his plate and brought his hands to his lap, then between his thighs as he tried to come up with an answer. ”I don't know,” he admitted eventually, head bowed so far down he couldn't see anything but the dirtied plate and a few cartons turning greasier with each passing minute.

Cor hummed low in his throat and tapped his chopsticks against the plate. ”That's fair enough,” he agreed, in full therapist mode already. ”Is it someone from school?”

Almost sobbing, Prompto snorted a laugh. ”It's – Gladio. Lus. Gladiolus Amicitia. Noct's Shield.”

” _Ah_.” The gasp was short and poignant, no words needed to portray the emotion behind it. ”He graduated already, didn't he? What was he doing at school?”

The question was supposed to be an easy one – something for Prompto to latch onto, something to keep him talking and away from the mess otherwise known as his mind. Even he recognized the query for what it was, yet even so, there was nothing it could do to help him: not when it came a fraction too late, saltwater already burning at Prompto's eyes as he swallowed around the watery slime clogging up his throat. His entire face scrunched up and then the tears began to roll, hot droples dribbling down his skin in rapidly cooling trails that left his skin itchy and blotched.

He heard plastic rustling and looked up just in time to see Cor push the napkin pack closer to him. A startled laugh spilled from Prompto's lips and he reached for the napkins, eagerly pressing one against his right eye and then the left one, sobbing harder when the tears kept on coming despite his best attempts at shunning them and ridding his face of the evidence. Throughout his cries, Cor remained silent while collecting the leftovers and dirtied plates from the island, scraping the food into plastic boxes before tossing the flattened cardboard cartons into a bin.

By the time Cor was done cleaning up, the worst of Prompto's sniffles had subsided. He sniffled still, dabbed at his nose and eyes with a soppy paper napkin, but the tears had dulled the edge of it all and he felt – calmer, maybe, or perhaps just ready to move on. ”Noct forgot his lunch at home,” he sniffled pitifully, clearing his throat when a clot of snot threatened to cut off his voice. Cor raised an eyebrow in question where he was washing his hands at the sink but said nothing. ”So he had Gladio bring it to him.”

”And what happened next?” Cor asked, still standing at the sink. He grabbed a towel to wipe his hands on and leaned against the counter, his eyes back on Prompto who squirmed in his seat and laughed.

”I ran from him,” he cackled, head thrown back and tears back in his eyes, sliding towards his ears. ”I – I smelled him and then I just ran 'cause – 'cause I got spooked like some dumb fuckwit s-so I ran from him.”

Calling himself names was one of the things his therapist and Cor had tried to make him quit, and though Cor usually had a soft reprimand or two at ready for Prompto's frequent slip-ups, this time he remained quiet. As Prompto wiped at his eyes, a grotesque grimace still pulling at his mouth, Cor pulled a milk carton from the fridge and the chocolate suryp from one of the cabinets, getting to work with hardly a word; Prompto watched him with his breath stuck low in his throat and fought to keep his sobs at bay.

”Did he say or do something, or did you just get scared?” Cor asked eventually, when the milk was in the microwave. He glanced at Prompto when he spoke but otherwise kept his attention in the hot chocolate he was preparing, the small sugar-coated marshmallows sitting on the counter and the can of whipped cream waiting for the drink itself. Prompto sniffled and shook his head, his fingers buried deep into the softening flesh of his thighs.

”No, I just – I saw him with Noct and realized who he was, and I thought okay, that's – that's one big dude, but I went up to them anyways 'cause Noct's been bugging me about meeting Gladio and Ignis, but...” Prompto had to pause to unclog his snotty throat. ”But then I got closer and the wind changed directions, and I – I smelled him, and... just panicked.”

Cor's hum was barely audible over the buzzing of the microwave, but he nodded his head minutely, eyes once again glancing at Prompto. ”That's fair,” he commented, stopping when the microwave began to beep. ”I've been told the realization of being in the presence of one's true mate can be more than startling at first.”

Prompto wanted to laugh and likely would have if Cor hadn't chosen that moment to finish the two cups of hot cocoa, which he brought over to the island before settling back to his bar stool. Prompto reached for the mug and wrapped his fingers around the searing-hot porcelain, loosening his hold just a fraction when the heat grew unbearable. ”It wasn't about that, though...” he murmured, attention momentarily stolen by Cor picking one of the marshmallows from his cup and flinging it to his mouth.

”Hmm-mm,” Cor agreed. ”Can you explain it to me, then?”

The thing was – Prompto couldn't. All his emotions – the moment of pleased warmth over finding his true mate, the fear of a large alpha, his usual anxiety multiplied by one hundred and then one thousand – had rolled themselves into a mess of tangled ends, his entire stomach nothing but a yarn basket after a bomb had gone off in it. Just finding the line between his normal anxiety and things exacerbated by all that had happened was difficult enough on its own, but trying to make sense of it... Prompto had felt more than a little else for all the hours between now and then, could barely remember finishing the school day in the nurse's office while Noctis zapped in and out of the room between classes.

The food in his belly had simultaneously taken the empty space previously occupied by worry and fear and uncertainty, but also shoved it all aside in favor of weighting him down from the inside. What little help it had offered to his nausea was already negated.

”I just don't know,” Prompto admitted eventually, staring down at the pile of whipped cream threatening to melt down the sides of his mug. He felt like he was going to puke.

”Is the good kind of not knowing or the bad?” Cor asked next. ”You look more stressed out and anxious than outright afraid to me.”

Prompto mulled over the words for a moment before nodding. ”Yeah,” he whispered, suddenly blinking back tears once more. ”I don't – I don't really know – what's going on. What's gonna happen.”

Cor made a sound around the rim of his cup. ”Nothing _has_ to happen, Prompto,” he said, licking the last of cream from his lips before stressing: ”There is absolutely _no_ reason whatsoever why you couldn't continue living your life as if nothing had happened.”

No reason except that just the mere mention of never seeing Gladio again was enough to tear a short mewl of pain from Prompto's throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth, face heated with embrassment, and tried to think of a world in which his true mate _wouldn't_ be in his life; he'd spent less than thirty minutes in Gladio's presence and already he felt tethered to him in a way he couldn't even begin to describe. It _was_ possible for true mates to simply go their own ways after registering their bond; it just didn't happen that often. As a kid, Prompto had sat in class with his peers and listened to a teacher answer questions about the matter, ”but what if he's a criminal” or ”what if she doesn't like mecha” or ”what if they have a cat, I'm allergic to cats” or a hundred questions more, each and every one of them rebuked with a ”no matter what your instincts tell you, you are under no obligations to spend your life with them.”

It had been easy to believe before, but now... Prompto blushed as he remembered the butterflies in his stomach, the ones that had very little to do with anxiety and a whole lot with finding his true mate, and pressed his palms against his rosy cheeks without even meaning to.

Cor snorted. ”I'm guessing running into him wasn't _all_ that negative, then,” he commented almost dryly, chuckling even deeper when Prompto glanced up at him with an embarrassed squeak. ”You, ah, felt the connection?”

Prompto nodded before his mind had fully comprehended the question. Before the meeting, he had always thought the fairytale-like renditions of true mates meeting on media to be false or at least greatly exaggerated, and perhaps they were, yet – as soon as Gladio's scent had hit his nose, he'd known, and when he'd known he had blossomed, his entire chest growing warm and fuzzy even as his lungs had frozen up on him. Now, as he thought back to that first meeting, it was those two feelings that surfaced – the fervency of the forming bond, and the fear of everything else.

”Yeah,” Prompto murmured, one palm pressed against his heartbeat. ”It was...” He tried, trailing off when no words came. He knew Cor was one of the 75% who hadn't yet met their true mate, but try as he might, he couldn't come up with an explanation for the simple warmth and belonging he'd felt. After their little talk in the old music room, Prompto had wanted to dive into Gladio's arms for a hug or two, and – taken aback by the pure strenght of his new emotions – he almost had.

His previous tears had all been expected; he'd spent half of his day fighting them more often than not. Now, though, as yet another wave of fresh tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, announcing their intentions, Prompto could only laugh wetly as his emotions once again got the best of him.

”Cor?” he asked after a moment, voice feeble and shaking with tears.

”Yes, Prompto?”

”I, I would like a hug now.”

Barely able to see through the stinging tears, Prompto heard the scrape of Cor's bar stool against the tiled floor, then the soft footsteps of his approach. Prompto dropped down from his perch and stumbled into Cor's chest and the embrace waiting for him, tears spilling down his face and clogging his throat with slime. As strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, he buried his face in the soft cashmere of Cor's work pullover and sobbed, not even sad or scared anymore, just – empty and tired and feeling too many things at once, frustrated over his inability to keep himself together. He felt bad for Gladio, who'd be stuck with someone like him for life, was ashamed over the cup of hot cocoa now better described as a pool of chocolate-flavored cream soup, exhausted enough to regret having woken up in the first place.

Cor held him through it all. After a year of living with him, his hugs – and in general, his willingness to be there for Prompto, to care for him as adults should – were still a novelty Prompto wasn't used to, wouldn't yet allow himself to believe in. Eventually his sobs subsided, even as his eyes still prickled and itched with new drops of saltwater, but Prompto kept his fingers firmly tangled into the sides of Cor's shirt, unwilling to let go of what he still considered a rare treat.

”Have you met him?” he asked after his words finally returned to him, voice cracking with nearly each syllable. Cor's hands still rubbed firm circles against his shoulder blades.

Cor hesitated only for a moment. ”I know his father,” he eventually answered. ”We... have had our share of disagreements–”

”–like when they kicked you out of Crownsguard–”

”–but ultimately, Clarus Amicitia is a good man, and I have no reason to doubt he wouldn't have done his best to raise his son the same.”

Despite Prompto's remark, Cor's voice never so much as threatened to falter, and Prompto grinned through what he was hoping would be his last sniffle of the day. They'd never actually talked about the full story, but over the past year he'd glanced enough details of the path Cor took to grow from a child soldier into a therapist specializing in military PTSD to figure out the big picture. Just the previous summer, Prompto had watched Cor walk into the King's Council in TV with a frown and a speech that left most of the council covering.

Knowing that he had someone like that – someone who could stand between him and Gladio, him and Gladio's family – made Prompto feel safer than he'd felt in a very, very long time. ”Tell me about it?” he murmured, chancing a shy look upwards at Cor, whose smile was warm enough to melt through the metal bindings of anxiety already forming themselves around Prompto's chest.

”Sure thing,” he replied easily. ”Let's get you a new cup of cocoa and then I'll tell you all about those old fuckers, yeah?”

Grinning honestly and from the bottom of his heart, Prompto nodded and let Cor guide him a few steps further into the kitchen, between the island and the counter where the chocolate-making ingredients still waited.


	3. Chapter 2, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a crisp autumn day, Gladio and Prompto talk.

The next day found them at the Citadel as planned. A Crownsguard had met them at the gates with a snappy salute, from where they moved into the sprawling administrative wing, Prompto all but hiding behind Cor's back in a nervous embarrassment he couldn't quite shake from his shoulders. The handful of people they passed mostly left them alone, at most sending quick greetings or polite nods their way, but the walk was long enough to bring a steady burn to Prompto's leg muscles.

The actual registration went without a hitch, a young beta woman placing a handful of papers on her desk for Prompto to sign. Cor snagged each and every one of them, carefully reading through the lines; in theory, they were supposedly the same forms everyone filled if they happened to run into their true mate, but that didn't stop Cor. Eventually, after several moments of awkward silence during which Prompto stared at his lap while the tips of his ears heated to the point of feeling like they were about to fall of, Cor put the stack of papers down and slid them over to Prompto.

”Please sign your name on each form,” the beta woman spoke softly, handing over a pen. Prompto took it from her, almost dropping it when he tried to pull the cap off with his sweaty hands. Though he knew the contents of most forms – they'd looked them up the previous night – he was still nervous. They didn't even mean anything in the long run, not anymore, not since the omega rights bills from almost 150 years ago, but then again – Prompto wasn't exactly known for being reasonable.

Eventually it came to the point where Prompto simply couldn't stall much longer, and with a deep sigh, he pressed the tip of the pen against the first page. It glided across the paper with ease, his name forming in a series of letters, and as soon as he was gone, the office worker took the paper, leaving him with the next one. With each turn of page, his signature grew more muddled, the loops and hooks of his name shortening and lenghtening and twisting in weird directions, and then – he could feel the wooden desk through the last paper, and when it was taken from him, there was nothing left.

Prompto exhaled and recapped the pen. Handed it over. Folded his fingers together while the woman went over the signatures, checking them for whatever reason. ”Thank you,” she said, snapping the stack against the table before grasping for the stapler, ”you will receive a letter in mail when your information has been updated into the government dataspace. The letter should arrive by the next Friday, and will include a copy of your personal information; if there is something wrong with it, fill the attached form and send it over to the address already printed on it. If everything is fine, then the registration is over and there's nothing more for you to do. Any questions?”

Though she spoke in kind, polite tones, it was clear that the speech was one she had more or less memorized by now. Prompto shook his head and glanced at Cor from the corner of his eye, then stood up and shook the woman's hand when Cor agreed it was time to go. In the hallway, he stopped, almost breathless.

A warm hand appeared on his shoulder, steering him towards the corner of the lobby. ”Let's take a moment,” Cor murmured. Prompto nodded and allowed himself to led into a thinly padded plastic seat in royal black and blues, the shape of it almost surprisingly comfortable against his back. For a very brief moment, Prompto thought back to all the plastic chairs he had ever sat in, the flimsy ones at the hospital and the slightly sturdier, green ones at the police station, those and so many others – with a deep breath, Prompto rested his head against his palms.

”Do you want to leave?” Cor asked quietly. Releasing a stuttery laugh, Prompto shook his head.

”No, I – I promised Gladio we'd talk today, so–”

”If you think I care about his opinions at all, then you clearly don't know me at all, kid,” Cor commented dryly, though he didn't press the matter any further. Keeping his eyes closed, Prompto breathed through the gap between his palms, in and out, slow and steady, trying to calm himself down despite not knowing for sure what it was that had him so riled up in the first place. That this was the only norm he had ever known didn't make handling it any easier.

Some minutes later, Prompto let go of his face and leaned back in the chair until his head thudded against the wall behind him. He remained as he was for another moment longer, staring at the elaborately decorated ceiling above their heads, still breathing calmer than his lungs were willing to allow.

”Guess we should get going,” he murmured, slumping into himself and twisting to look at Cor, who nodded. ”I don't know where it is that we're supposed to be meeting at, though.”

A lack of foresight on his and Gladio's part – when they'd agreed to talk after the registration, they'd failed to build the plans to actually make it happen. Cor had received a text message early in the morning, from a number not available but signed by Clarus Amicitia; when he'd told Prompto about it over breakfast, Prompto had just stared at him, too asleep and too nervous and too everything to even care.

Now that it was actually the time to head for the meeting, he regretted it more than anything.

Cor heaved himself up with a sigh and reached a hand for Prompto, who took it without a question and allowed himself to be pulled up. ”They're waiting us near the Crownsguard wing – it's where their offices are,” Cor said, only clarifying the location when Prompto blinked at him. ”It's Saturday so most of the trainees are away.”

Prompto, chancing a glance at the small handful of people sitting in the lobby and waiting to be called on, released a wobbly sigh and followed Cor out of the room. As far as he could tell, they exited via the same route they had entered, though going backwards through a gazillion corners and elevators and staircases, it was too difficult for him to keep actual track of where they were at times; only the glimpses of the city he could see through the occasional window helped him orientate himself. Cor, though, seemed to have no troubles with navigating the building and soon they stood at the door they had used to enter the building.

”We'll walk through the gardens,” Cor instructed, nodding to their right. Prompto, who had only ever seen pictures and paintings of the Royal Gardens, wanted to feel joy; instead, he felt nothing but the usual dread.

Two guards flanked the wrought iron gate meant to keep unwelcome visitors out of the gardens, but at the sight of them – or Cor, Prompto assumed, because it was Cor they knew had likely been waiting for – the guards pulled the gates open. Where Cor breezed past them silent and thankless, Prompto flushed, ducking his head as he murmured a shy thank-you that probably ended up drowned under the grunch of gravel under their feet. Embarrassed and suddenly anxious over the possibility of being perceived as rude, Prompto picked up his pace until he was next to Cor once more.

The Royal Gardens were massive, most of the vast expanse of green earth not open to the public; all Citadel workers had access to most of the gardens, though, and the occasional tour through the blooming fields was always bought out in seconds after the ticket sales opened up. For years, ever since he'd become interested in arts, he'd dreamed of visiting this place – and now that he actually stood there, within a walking distance of all the treasures from many of his favorite paintings, he was too anxious to enjoy himself.

There were only a small handful of people hanging about the gardens, most of them looking like Citadel staff of some kind taking a break amongst the golden-orange foliage, though Prompto did spot one photographer by a fountain – _the_ fountain, his mind automatically corrected, from _The Oracle's Blessing_. The jealousy that filled his heart within a flash took him by surprise and Prompto faltered in his steps, almost stopping fully before he caught himself and dashed forward once more.

He scented Gladio before he saw him. At first, Prompto thought the winds were in his favor, but soon he realized they were all over the place, almost circling the garden in short, gusty gales; the understanding hit him like a brick over his head and he flushed, hoping Cor wouldn't notice anything wrong. Prompto eyed Cor's back for a moment, glanced around them in search of witnesses, and seeing none, stuck his nose in the air and sniffed.

He'd always had a better sense of smell than anyone he'd ever met, but this – though he didn't know Gladio's exact location, he could nevertheless tell that it was too far outside his usual range. Despite the distance and the winds, Gladio's scent – like a fragrant flower in full bloom, almost intoxicating in its sweetness – was clear in Prompto's sinuses. For the rest of his life, he would deny the last few minutes of their walk, during which the beautiful scenery passed his eyes with hardly a thought spared on it; how could he, when he could smell Gladio? Prompto stayed a few steps behind Cor's back and just – smelled the air around him, familiarizing himself with Gladio's scent now that he could do it unbothered, unseen by others as he followed the tug of _his_ mate to an old, almost crumbling staircase at the foot of what had to be a side entrance to the wing.

Gladio stood next to a balding man Prompto would have recognized from the news alone, if the situation hadn't made it clear who it was. A sudden bout of shyness taking him over, he crept behind Cor's back, fumbling with his fingers in restless anxiety even when Clarus welcomed them with a soft smile and a friendly greeting.

”Dr. Leonis,” he said, stepping forward with his hand extended for a shake.

” _Clarus_ ,” Cor responded, pointedly, though he did take the offered hand before turning to Gladio. ”And Gladiolus, I am presuming.”

”Yes, sir.” As Cor turned to him, Gladio stepped up to Clarus' side to shake Cor's hand. ”It's good to meet you, sir.”

One of the very first things Cor had ever told Prompto, was an order – a permission – to not call him 'sir.' Over and over again, he'd told Prompto not to bother, to quit with it, to simply call him by his name, and over the passing months, Prompto had eventually unlearned the habit of calling every adult 'sir' or 'ma'am' if they so much as looked his way. Now, though, that it was Gladio standing before him, Cor simply harrumphed and took his hand back, stepping to the side so he could pull Prompto forward.

”Prompto, this is Clarus,” he said, waving a dismissive hand in Clarus' direction. ”Clarus, my son Prompto.”

The epiphet alone was enough to make Prompto flush furiously, but as Clarus' eyes turned to him, he found himself ducking his head shyly. ”Hello, sir,” he managed to murmur, resisting the urge to cling to Cor's shirt.

If Clarus thought him impolite, he didn't comment on it. ”Hello, Prompto,” he smiled instead, ”it's a pleasure to meet you. And please, do call me my name – a little use won't wear it down, I'm sure.”

Feeling his face grow even hotter, Prompto spluttered a reply not even he could decipher. Though he could see nothing threatening at all – as tall and broad as Clarus was, his body was loose and relaxed, the smile on his face soft and kind – the part of him that had not yet learned to trust others was panicking, both because of the stress and the two pairs of eyes locked on him. Unable to look up from the ground, Prompto rubbed at his chin, barely able to stop himself from hiding his entire face behind his palms or stepping to the side to cower behind Cor's back, but somehow he managed.

”Well,” Clarus said, ”I suppose we'll leave you two to it. Dr. Leonis, if you would?”

Prompto glanced up at Cor, who flashed him a curt smile along the firm squeeze of thick fingers on a bony shoulder, and a moment later, the two grown-ups were walking away. Cor didn't look happy about it, but he wasn't upset either – so Prompto thought – and they had agreed that Prompto needed a moment alone with Gladio, and so he turned his gaze to his mate.

His mate. Gladio was tall as he'd been the previous day, and though he was smiling wide enough to cast soft crinkles in the corners of his eyes, Prompto still shrunk into himself when he gazed up at the amber eyes watching him. There was a new sadness in those eyes, he was fairly sure; not like the shocked grief after Prompto had run away from him, but something deeper, less superficial.

”You read the file, then,” Prompto murmured, twisting his fingers into aching knots while glancing between Gladio's eyes and well-shined boots. The other nodded and motioned towards the stairs.

”Yeah,” he said, ”wanna sit down?”

The stairs were old, the surface worn and rough, yet there was something almost magical in touching something so historical. The cool stone under Prompto's bum reminded him of the first days of autumn in his childhood, that one home with the concrete steps and how he'd sat there playing, watching the garden, grinning at the dog running between him and his mother – but those days were long since gone, now, and instead he'd been left in a shallow grave he still hadn't fully escaped.

Rubbing a palm against the rough stone, Prompto eyed the gardens, delighting in the change that had followed the shift in the angles. For a brief moment, he was able to ignore Cor and Clarus, who stood within yelling distance but not any closer, and Gladio who sat on the same step but on the other end of it, leaning against a wall covered in reddening vines and the damp mist of a new morning; but soon the moment broke, and he had to cast a side-long glance at Gladio, who still continued his sad smile.

”I don't really wanna talk about it,” Prompto murmured, kicking out his legs until his knees straightened out. His heels dug into the loose earth, dirtying his shoes, but he didn't care. ”But I – I needed you to know all that, because – if we're gonna be interacting at all, then you need to know.”

Gladio's sigh was like a knife between Prompto's ribs. ”Yeah,” he inhaled while Prompto tried to keep from flinching, ”yeah, I understood that when I saw – the file. I'm sorry, for what it's worth.”

Relaxing a little, Prompto drew his knees back up and folded his nervously fumbling arms on top of them. As he leaned forward, his spine curved out into an roundness Cor had tried to teach him out of, softly reprimanding him over his bad posture and the health issues it might lead into, but here, on his steps, talking to Gladio about his deepest, darkest secrets – now known – was too much to bear without some kind of a protective, comforting measure.

”Yeah...” Prompto mumbled. He chances a glance at Gladio and saw him watching the gardens. ”I'm... not okay, and probably won't ever be, fully, and I don't know if I've got anything to give anyone–”

”That's okay,” Gladio cut in. Though the words were firm, the gentleness of his voice was enough to bring a familiar burn to Prompto's eyes. ”We don't ever have to be anything, you know that. We could go our own ways after today and never meet again, if that's what you wanted.”

Try as he might, Prompto couldn't decipher the emotions in Gladio's voice. The softness was still there, sure, but he needed to hear something more tangible, pain over the possibility of a separation or joy that he'd never need to see Prompto again, but there was nothing, only a carefully controlled permission that sounded like a death sentence in Prompto's ears. Now that he had Gladio, he didn't know if he could ever let go again.

”It doesn't feel like that, though.” If he thought of Gladio, he thought of the future, of two adults in each other's arms and all that came along with such a thing. Friendship was... a possibility, but Prompto already wanted more, something romantic and domestic, the kind of a thing that had his belly squirming and tingling in a pleasant warmth.

”Guess not,” Gladio shrugged. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees like Prompto was doing, only – he looked like something out of a magazine, a god amongst mortals, dressed to the casual nines with a sharpness that the artist in Prompto could only admire, and then he smiled and Prompto had to look away once more.

A moment of silence followed. Prompto eyed the gardens and the three statues he could see, their names springing to the forefront of his mind without a problem. Biting down on his lip, he glanced at Gladio – who either watched him or didn't, Prompto couldn't say – and steeled his shoulders.

”After high school,” he said, looking at Gladio to see if the other was listening, ”I'm gonna go to Tenebrae.”

A half-assed shrug was Gladio's only reaction and Prompto felt like raging, unable to tell how his words had been received. ”Okay,” Gladio said. ”What're you gonna do there?”

For a moment, Prompto stared right back at him. ”I'm gonna study art history at the Royal Tenebraean Academy of Arts.”

Gladio blinked – confusion – but soon his eyes widened, a smile blooming on his face as he nodded and shifted around until he was fully facing Prompto. ”Oh, yeah!” he gasped, excitement shining in his eyes, and Prompto relaxed against the weatherworn tiled wall even as something giddy twisted in his guts. ”Noct's mentioned your drawings a couple times. He says you're real good?”

A cozy warmth seeped through Prompto's chest and he nodded, smiling in shy satisfaction. ”Yeah,” he whispered, not willing to downplay the one thing he excelled at, yet nevertheless afraid of being viewed negatively for the very same thing, ”I really am.”

”Cool.” Gladio continued his enthusiastic nodding even as he glanced in the direction Cor and Clarus had went off to. ”I'm – I'm more into historical fiction, but I'm kind of a history buff too–”

” _Really_ ,” Prompto gasped, pure glee sparking each cell of his being into overdrive. They liked similar things! That was a good thing! They had something to talk about, and to built a relationship on...! However, a moment later his excitement died as he remembered the one thing he hadn't yet mentioned. ”It's a six-year degree.”

They wouldn't really be able to interact until Prompto's eighteenth birthday, but the university would keep them apart even further and already Prompto feared the repercussions. He knew he needed both the time and the experience – his dream of attending the RoTAA had been sparked during a museum visit when he'd been seven or eight, and had kept him alive ever since – but six years was a long time, especially when preceded by the remaining years of Prompto's high school education. He already couldn't promise anything, not even a proper friendship, and the fear of not being good enough for his true mate was deep and dark enough that Prompto was sure it would eat him alive sooner rather than later.

To his utter surprise, Gladio shrugged. ”Yeah, I guessed it'd be something like that,” he said, flashing a brief grin. ”But you gotta do what you gotta do, yeah? Are you, uh, sure about getting in, then?”

Prompto nodded, though of course he couldn't be entirely sure; he knew the requirements, had been following the slightly changing list for a few years now, and was adamant that he'd be able to meet them when his time came. However, there were other matters to take into the account, most importantly the portfolio showcasing his art, but for this one thing, Prompto was willing to work till he bled.

”I'm going to Tenebrae,” he repeated, holding Gladio's gaze in a show of unsual resolve. The other nodded and lifted a hand to rub through the short crop of his hair.

”So we'll be – talking more, then,” he said, looking almost embarrassed, and something inside Prompto's chest crowed at the sight because it meant he wasn't the only one affected by this. ”Are you... gonna be coming back to Insomnia when you're done?”

Pictures flashed before Prompto's eyes, of Cor and Noctis and even Gladio, of the future his base instincts were already crafting for him, and he almost laughed. ”I mean,” he began to mumble, ”I can't see why not.”

A moment of silence followed. ”Yeah,” Gladio murmured, clearing his throat. ”That's good. Uh... Listen, did you tell anyone else about us being true mates?”

Taken aback, a nervous dread rising in his guts, Prompto shook his head and withdrew against the wall. ”No,” he said, ”just Cor – and the lady at the office. Noct knows.”

”Okay. Okay.” Gladio smiled at him, but it was a little shaky and Prompto suddenly felt like he was sinking, like he no longer knew what was going to happen, and he thought his heart would give up right then and there. ”It doesn't have to be a secret, but, uh, because I'm kind of a public figure, there's... some stuff you might wanna think about first. Nothing bad, just. Amicitia stuff.”

”Oh.”

Prompto shoulders slumped as the air left his lungs in a slow exhale. To be honest, he'd been wondering about the ramifications of Gladio's name and title, but those questions had all been lost under other things. Now, though, they all rushed back to him accompanied by another thread of fear, and Prompto could only suck in his lower lip as he waited for Gladio to continue.

”Yeah, so.” Gladio waved a hand around and looked away for a brief moment. ”It's probably best to keep things secret for now, 'cause the press might start hounding you. I mean, you'll probably find your pics in the newspapers every now and then since you're friends with Noct, but... my – relationships were gonna be a big deal no matter what, but if the press found out I'd met my true mate, then they'd wanna spin some big tales out of it to sell the paper.”

He shrugged and Prompto nodded, understanding.

”If you end up telling someone, or find out that it's leaked some other way, you should call us – I'll give you the numbers later – so the Citadel PR team can get to work ASAP.” Gladio paused, hesitating. ”We can also get you a guard detail if it gets bad enough, but it shouldn't – not in this day and age, and not until–sorry, _unless_ we're something a bit more. Uh. Involved.”

Prompto tried to hide his flushing face with another nod of his head, though he wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. The more Gladio talked, the more anxious Prompto felt, but he knew it was something he needed to listen to, both for the simple purpose of knowing but also for his own peace of mind.

”Also...” Gladio continued eventually, when Prompto continued to sit in silence, gaze twitching towards him every now and then. ”Listen, I – I want to make clear this is _my_ responbility, and that it doesn't have to mean anything to you, but... Dad thinks you should know what you're getting into, and I kind of agree, but this is going to sound bad and I don't want you to end up thinking it's something that's gonna end up on your shoulders.”

Prompto licked at his lips. ”Lay it out, dude.”

Gladio inhaled deeply before speaking up. ”I'm going to need a heir,” he said grimly. ”Not for another decade or two, but I have to produce one. Like I said, it's on me, and even – even if we end up in a relationship, there's no need for you to bear that child. I can get a surrogate if I have to, but the fact is that I'll need at least one child to be raised as the Shield for Noct's heir.”

On some level, Prompto had probably been aware of the matter. He'd known that as Noctis' Shield, Gladio would have responsibilities piled upon responsibilities, but as obvious as the necessity of producing a heir was, it was also a thought Prompto hadn't stumbled into during his worried ruminating. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Gladio's and nodded, then returned his gaze to the ground and the leaves blown along by gradually sharpening winds.

”Yeah,” he murmured, tasting ash. Already, he wanted to be the one to give Gladio everything. ”I – I understand.”

”Oh.” Gladio slumped against his legs. ”That's, that's good.”

”Uh-huh.” Prompto hesitated for a moment before tentatively asking, ”Though, can't, uh... Iris? Is that her name?” Noctis had mentioned both Gladio and his little sister more than once, but Prompto had never paid too much attention to the little girl apparently crushing on his horribly embarrased best friend.

”Iris, yeah.” Gladio nodded, likely expecting Prompto's question – it had to be obvious – but pausing to wait for it all the same.

”Can't... she have the next heir?”

Even as he asked the question, Prompto felt like the biggest dumbass in the world. The open hesitation on Gladio's face only strenghtened it, because of course Iris couldn't have the child, because if she did then Gladio would probably have to relinquish the right from his line to hers, and that had to be a bad enough a thing in these circles, but Prompto really didn't know better. Gnawing on his lower lip, he waited for Gladio to answer.

”Well, she could, if she absolutely had to,” he replied eventually, words slow and measured. ”But it... it might be taken as a sign of weakness by the other noble houses, and... It's – this probably won't sound that good to you, but it really is the last choice.”

Nodding, Prompto mumbled some sort of an acknowledgement. Already he was busy chastising himself over his mistake, whispers of what an idiot he'd been ringing through his brain, but when he finally looked up, he realized that Gladio didn't look angry at all. He was back to the neutral, unreadable smile, so maybe he was just that good at hiding his emotions, but – he really didn't seem to be cross with Prompto at all, and that was more than Prompto had even dared ask for.

In the distance, Cor and Clarus were looking in their direction. Prompto sought out the belltower in the distance and squinted at it, trying to figure out the elaborate hands on the centuries-old clock, but not quite succeeding. They had been talking for a while already, though, and when he turned to face Gladio once more he saw the other almost twitchy with the same sort of unsureness he himself was also feeling.

”I, uh, I guess that's... that?” Prompto asked hesitantly. Gladio nodded and stood up, dusting off his pants.

”Yeah, I think so.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out a small card, which he handed over as soon as Prompto had followed his example of standing up. ”Here's my private number, and my dad's, and a couple lines to the Citadel if you ever need to call someone over something. Iggy can probably explain these things to you if you ask him, and, uh... If you have some questions about – my name, that sorta stuff, and don't feel like calling me or dad, you can just ask Noctis or Ignis instead.”

Prompto took the card with a quiet thanks and eyed the numbers listed on it before stuffing it into his own pants pocket. When he looked up, he saw Cor and Clarus slowly approaching, but also Gladio smiling down on him, his eyes the color of the golden-red maple leaves the whole city seemed to be waiting for. Prompto blushed and looked away, then back at Gladio, nervously working his fingers into knobbly knots.

”So, uh...”

”We'll, uh, we'll be seeing?” Gladio offered, hesitant. He scratched the back of his neck and quickly glanced away when Prompto tilted his head up. ”Eventually, I mean.”

”Eventually, yeah,” Prompto agreed. After a moment of faltering, he offered his hand for a handshake only accepted after a long, awkward pause, but before he could say anything, he found himself being pulled forward.

It wasn't quite a hug, but it was close enough that Prompto didn't care. Their joined hands folded into a bow between them, his right shoulder knocked against Gladio's chest while a warm hand clapped at the other one, and though the moment only lasted for a small handful of blessed seconds, it left Prompto's heart pounding in want. There was little he desired more than to dive back into Gladio's embrace, to allow himself to be held, but – he couldn't, and shouldn't, both because of his age and because of his issues.

He'd need to learn to exist on his own first. He'd never be fully okay, but he could be – something, a person capable of loving and being loved in turn, but he'd need to work for that and he wouldn't be able to do it if he had Gladio to cling to.

Smiling, Prompto drew away from Gladio. ”I'm gonna be better, one day,” he murmured, ignoring the heartbroken look returning to Gladio's eyes, ”and – and then we'll talk more.”

The age difference was a small blessing, as clumsy as it made other things. It gave Prompto the space he'd need to heal, but also enough time to figure out how to built a relationship that was mutual and two-sided, not entirely based on someone else taking care of him. Through his therapy, he'd only began to peek at the cracks in his being, but he knew – young and dumb and broken as he was – that right now, if he didn't keep away from Gladio, then he'd end up entirely dependant on the other.

That wouldn't be fair, and so Prompto allowed himself to be led away. There'd be no need for them to interact during the next couple of years, and then he'd be moving to Tenebrae anyway, and there'd he have the space and time and all the things he'd need to craft himself into someone else – and maybe, on his return, he could be the omega he wanted to be.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years pass. Gladio has Ignis, Prompto has Noctis, and though they can't yet have each other, it's enough to keep them going.

Time continued to pass, months rolling forward and seasons changing. Autumn, winter. During the Cosmogony festival, Noctis ferried a handful of presents from Gladio to Prompto and from Prompto to Gladio, rolling his eyes when he saw Gladio's grump embarrassment or the flush on Prompto's face when a present-filled gift bag flooded his room with the sweet scent of flowers. Spring came, and melting earth and laughing people, and then summer, a break for Prompto and work for Noctis – meaning work for Gladio – and then, autumn once more.

* * *

The small gym was empty when Gladio weaved his way past training equipment, grumbling to himself over his aching toe he'd already stubbed into a dumbbell left astray on the floor. The lights were slow to turn on, flickering above his head like in horror movies, and the air stank of strong cleaners and stronger sweat stains, tickling his already irritated nose even further.

One of the larger, newer gym halls may have been better suited for this training session, but here at least Gladio – and Ignis, when he'd arrive – could have a moment of privacy. One of the betas in Kingsglaive had found her true mate a scarce two weeks before, and had taken to showing off the daintily blushing omega librarian every chance she could. Gladio had shaken their hands, offered his congratulations with a smile, and then walked away biting back a scream.

”In a mood already, I see.”

Startling at the sound of Ignis' smooth voice, Gladio spun around to face the younger man. With his eighteenth birthday swiftly approaching, Ignis had finally been allowed to enter Crownsguard training for good, and it was already showing. With boxing gloves slung over his broadening shoulders, Ignis looked the part of a soldier – and Gladio, who had come to like these sessions, would have praised him for it if not for his swiftly souring mood.

”What's that to you?” he glowered, holding onto the elastic bands circling the boxing ring. ”And did you warm up already?”

Shrugging almost casually, Ignis sauntered forward until Gladio could make out the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead. He'd done his laps, then, just like Gladio had run his. Huffing, Gladio hoisted himself into the ring and dropped his water bottle in the nearest corner before taking his punch mitts and slapping them together, causing a leathery snap to echo in the room.

Ignis said nothing as he climbed into the ring and set to wrapping his hands. Gladio waited, slowly moving across the mat to keep his body ready, still in a mood so sour he didn't bother trying make small-talk. When Ignis was done with the wrappings, he slid his gloves on, a move Gladio mirrored with the mitts, and then they got started.

The dance started out slow and careful, the two of them simply trying to get into the correct mindset; though Ignis had excelled with each weapon he'd been given, his hand-to-hand lessons had so far ended up in a clusterfuck. The boxing lessons had, at first, been a means of adding cardio into his already tight schedule, but soon enough, both he and Gladio had realized there was another benefit to the sessions, and so they continued them further and further.

Slowly, Ignis' movements began to pick up speed and force, and to counter them, Gladio allowed some of his frustration to creep into the subtle thrusts of his fists as he hurried to catch each hit on time. The sounds of leather slapping on leather filled the room, only broken by quiet grunts from both Gladio and Ignis as they circled around the ring, eyes strained on each other over their padded hands.

”S'that all you got?” Gladio grunted after a while, smirking at Ignis when the other halted his punches and drew back a step.

”Oh, no, not at all,” Ignis spoke, voice haughty despite the breathless edges. He used his padded wrist to nudge his glasses up his nose before all but flying forward for one, swift punch Gladio still caught with relative ease, even if the force behind it surprised him slightly. ”I'm merely unsure whether or not _you_ can handle more than that.”

Thrusting his mittens out with an irritated harrumph, Gladio pushed Ignis further away. ”What's that supposed to mean?” he ground out, stepping forward with his hands up. Ignis shrugged and came at him with another jab, which Gladio blocked. ”I ain't in the mood for your games today, Igs.”

Another punch, another loud slap. ”It seems to me you are not in the mood for _anything_ today, Gladiolus,” Ignis spoke, words broken by harsh breathing. A hit, a block, a hit, a block. ”Your head is clearly not here today, so I fail to see why I should try at all.”

With one last punch, Ignis drew back once more, his fists lowered to waist level but eyes bright as daggers behind his glasses. Gladio paused, tried to come up with a retort, but to his shame found his throat constricting while his eyes began to burn. Panicking, humiliated, he spun around and tore the punch mitts from his hands, tossing them wherever they wanted to go – one hit the ropes around the boxing ring but the other flew into the mess of training equipment slotted too close to each other, disappearing into the shadows under a broken ceiling light.

”Fuck this shit,” Gladio groused, blinking furiously in an attempt to dispel the tears threatening to spill free. He bounced over the elastic ropes, his feet hitting the floor below with a loud thud, and marched towards the changing room, praying to the Astrals that Ignis wouldn't follow, but not quite believing it either way. In the cold, tiled room, he threw himself down on a bench by the locker he'd occupied and pressed his palms against his stinging eyes, trying to breath through the sobs fucking with his throat.

A minute or two later, Gladio heard light footsteps approaching. ”You don't know shit,” he spat out as soon as he noticed Ignis sitting down next to him, some inches apart but still close enough to prickle the hairs at the back of Gladio's neck. ”Fuck off, pisshead.”

A long silence followed. When Ignis finally spoke up, it was preceded by a forlorn sigh so deep Gladio felt like punching something, but instead he sobbed, traitorous tears squeezing out from between his eyelids.

”I don't, do I...” Ignis murmured, sighing. From the corner of his eye, Gladio could see him playing with the wraps, rolling and unrolling one of the neon pink bands. ”You could talk to me if you wished, though.”

Still leaning against his hands, Gladio stared at the tiles between his training shoes. White and scuffed, some of them cracking, the grout suspiciously dark in some places – the rooms would likely end up facing full renovations within a year. Thinking of Ignis' words clogged up his throat with snot he couldn't expel, but thinking of the _actual_ problem brough an ache to his heart so strong he felt like dying. Gladio laughed into his hands, then sobbed.

He hadn't seen Prompto in a year. They'd exchanged short letters around their birthdays and Cosmogony, and every now and then, Gladio heard a kernel of news from Noctis or Ignis – but that had been the full extend of their communication. The logical part of his brain – the one understanding the significance of the age difference, the one that still remembered the expression on Prompto's face as the blond shakily explained he needed time and distance to heal – understood, but his emotions didn't. Gladio's heart swelled tenfold every time he thought of Prompto, every time someone brought him up in a discussion, every time he noticed a whiff of caramel clinging to Noctis or even Ignis... He'd found his true mate, and the irrational part of him couldn't accept the distance, couldn't accept that Prompto wasn't right there by Gladio's side, in Gladio's arms, their scents mingling and their bond growing stronger.

Gladio didn't realize the pass of time until he heard Ignis speak up. ”It's Prompto, isn't it?” the advisor-in-training murmured gently, wringing a hysteric snort from Gladio.

” _Of course_ it's fucking Prompto,” he cackled, letting go of his face just to wipe the snot leaking out of his right nostril. ”I can't – can't – I _need_ him, Iggy.”

Ignis hummed. A moment later, Gladio noticed a white paper tissue entering his peripheral vision, which he grabbed quickly, almost angrily. He dabbed at his burning eyes and tried to mop the thin snot dribbling from his nose, then bunched the tissue into a ball and hid his face in his palms once more. Grief tore at his heart as if intending to shred him apart from the inside, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

”He'll be eighteen in just over two years,” Ignis commented. ”It won't be long till you can start building a relationship with him.”

Despite the overt kindness in Ignis' voice, Gladio cackled. ”You don't know,” he laughed, after the first moment of stunned shock had left his veins, ”you don't fucking know.”

A beat of silence. ”I beg your pardon?”

If anything, the words made Gladio laugh harder. He let go of his face in favor of clutching at his stomach, his head thudding against the metal lockers almost painfully when he threw it back. He could see Ignis watching him in open confusion, a water bottle in his hands and the wrappings set aside on Ignis' other side.

”He's gonna be getting his uni degree in Tenebrae,” Gladio answered when the laughter finally died and transformed into a hitching breath. He wiped at his eyes and the tears that had more to do with his laugh than his grief, and slumped back down, hands fisting next to his knees. ”It's a six-year degree, Igs.”

Ignis gasped a quiet little ”ah” that carried more understanding than a million words ever could have. ”I see,” he said, stroking his chin in thought. ”The RoTAA, I imagine–oh, don't look at me like that, Gladio. I wasn't aware of his plans past high school, but I do know him well enough to confidently claim his art skills are far beyond excellent.”

Gladio bit into his lip and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. ”Do you know how fucking mad it makes me that you get to see him more than I do?”

”Hn. In that case, I'm afraid I have greatly misjudged your character,” Ignis spoke snappishly, nudging his glasses with a crooked finger, ”for I would have thought you _pleased_ to know Prompto has trustworthy people in his life.”

Gladio almost choked as he attempted to swallow the half-laugh, half-sob threatening to tear free from his lungs. _Of course_ he was happy Prompto had good people around him, especially after having seen the file and the list of atrocities no child should ever go through, but he needed to be one of those people! He needed to be there for Prompto! He needed to be something more than a shadow in the distance, but he wouldn't be, not until another eight years had passed, and even then – Gladio broke out in a new wave of sobs and leaned into his palms.

A year had passed, and he'd only seen Prompto once – in _Insomnia Herald_ , after some art contest or other, smiling nervously by a large painting depicting a rough-edged Citadel and a sky aflame in all the colors of the universe. Cor had been hovering behind him, arms crossed and eyes glaring daggers at the photographer, but Gladio had felt those daggers digging into his own heart despite him knowing the protective anger was not directed at him.

A year. Two letters, two birthday cards and brief thanks passed through Noctis, a few simple presents and nothing more.

”I'm, I'm so fucking afraid I'll never have him in my life, not even as a friend, and, and–” Gladio cried, the words rushing out of his mouth as hot tears spilled down his cheeks. Distantly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, long fingers squeezing into tense muscles in comfort, in apology, for no words would ever heal the gaping wound in Gladio's chest.

* * *

Time continued to pass. Gladio grew out his hair, kept up with his training, and continued thinking of the future he might never have. Prompto grew firmer, more stable but still easily shakeable, took to running and blushed red as beets every time he saw a picture of Gladio somewhere. Gladio turned twenty, then twenty-one, and knelt before Noctis in the Crystal Chamber to swear a vow scripted by his ancient ancestors; Prompto was sixteen, then seventeen, and learned of things he'd always thought his body would never want. They exchanged birthday cards and the occasional letter, Noctis and Ignis sharing news of them with eye-rolls and smirks barely hiding the melancholy dejection. Things were looking good, but not that good.

* * *

For some long, tiring minutes now, the game prefore Prompto's eyes had ceased to entertain him. He still whacked at his enemies with half-hearted vigor, but only because Noctis sat two or three feet away, twisted backwards on Prompto's desk chair; when asked about the clearly uncomfortable position, Noctis had simply shrugged and mumbled something about how there was no-one around to stop him, and so Prompto had left him be.

The quest finally over, Prompto sighed and set his game console on pause before carefully lowering it on the floor. He lay on his back on his own bed, knees still propped up; he'd been resting the console against them. Too tired to do much else, he folded his hands over his stomach, then tried to take a deep breath, mostly failing.

”Everything okay?”

At the sound of Noctis' voice, Prompto shifted his gaze from the ceiling beams to his best friend. Not in the mood to answer, he shrugged against the already wrinkled blanket underneath him and kicked his feet down.

”D'you think he's gonna want a lot of children?”

He was met with stunned silence, which was pretty much what he'd expected. Back to staring at the ceiling and the little chocobo origami hanging from them, Prompto prodded at his belly through his shirt, frowning at the softness below his belly button. He'd started running some three years before, when his doctors had finally called him healthy enough, but the stubborn flub on his lower stomach simply refused to budge. It was the usual omegan thing, a little fat here and there because of biological reasons, but Prompto loathed it. The hard muscle underneath barely made him feel any better.

”Are we talking about Gladio?” Noctis asked, something negative seeping into his voice – incredulity, probably, or something like that. Prompto couldn't really tell.

”Yeah.”

”Ri-ight...” A moment of silence, during which Prompto heard only the quiet clack of Noctis' console being put away, and then the sound of a throat being cleared. ”You... you do know you don't actually have to do any of that?”

Prompto shrugged, already feeling tears burning at his eyes. He squeezed them shut and tried to focus on breathing, but the little stomach blub had all his attention. He _wanted_ to have children with Gladio, only he knew it probably wouldn't be wise. He had his dreams and then the reality, or rather the realities – the one full of everything bad and negative, and the barest building blocks of the more realistic one his therapist had guided him into crafting.

”Yeah, well,” Prompto murmured. The paper chocobos were still as if frozen in time, no breeze in the room at all, but his stomach was still soft and though it felt nice under his fingers, it also felt bad in his head. ”He's gotta have a heir, doesn't he?”

”Yeah, but–” Noctis cut himself off with a groan. ” _You_ don't have to give him that. You don't have to give him _anything_ if you don't want to.”

Dry chuckles bubbled from Prompto's throat as his body rolled into itself, his shoulders inching closer to his ribs and his knees pressing together almost painfully. A part of him already regretted bringing up the topic, and he had to pinch the soft flesh of his belly to keep from crying out loud. Noctis _knew_ the Amicitias, he tried to tell himself, and Gladio had _explicitly_ told him to ask Noctis if he had any questions about the whole noble business. It was something Prompto couldn't really talk out with Cor, who probably didn't approve of Gladio because he didn't approve of Clarus for kicking him out of the Crownsguard in the name of protecting children from horrible acts of war, or his therapist, who simply didn't know the noble houses well enough to have answers at ready.

”Prom?”

Noctis was all Prompto had on this matter, and the sound of his name being spoken so softly, so kindly, had Prompto sniffling with tears he could no longer hold back.

”Y-yeah?”

”Can I come over there?”

Wiping a sleeve across his nose, Prompto nodded, then looked down at Noctis and murmured a quiet permission to make sure his answer had been understood. Noctis stood up and pushed the chair under the desk before walking over. Prompto scooted closer to the wall, expecting to see his best friend simply sit down on the edge, but to his surprise – and confusion, and anxiety, and shock – Noctis laid down next to him.

For a long moment, all Prompto could focus on was the warm length glued to his side, their arms touching each other and their knees bumbing together. His skin burned. They didn't really do things like this, didn't touch each other beyond playful punches and bodies slamming together in joy over a new high score at the arcade, and under his swiftly rising panic, Prompto wondered if he should have changed his sheets. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to breathe, wondering if Noctis found the thick omega scent annoying or disgusting where Prompto found it a comfort – a nest of his own, finally – because it was the kind of a thing alphas probably had pretty strong feelings over.

When Noctis rolled over to his side, Prompto held onto his breath, trying to convince his panicking body that his best friend was not a threat to be afraid of. He wasn't entirely successfull, but logic somehow ended up on top all of the same, even if its victory was shaky at best; releasing a stuttery breath, Prompto flicked his gaze to Noctis' dark eyes and swallowed.

”I get really worried over you, sometimes.”

Noctis' murmur sounded as if he was in mourning, quiet and feeble yet almost painfully sharp in Prompto's ears. When a hand clasped around Prompto's wrist – the wrist – he blanched, almost pulled away as nausea flooded his throat, but refused to move away even when Noctis' fingers gave the old sweatband a gentle squeeze. The weight of Noctis' arm crossing over his chest was a comfort, even if an odd and an unusual one, and Prompto didn't want to dislike it; such thinking wasn't enough to stop the shivers of discomfort running down his spine, but damn it if he wasn't going to try his best either way.

”You shouldn't,” Prompto murmured, once again staring the ceiling and the multi-color chocobo origamis. He had Cor doing enough of the worrying, and his therapist and doctor as well; there was no need for Noctis to be feeling bad over him. Prompto certainly didn't want him to.

Noctis huffed, and if there was any emotion behind it, then it was lost in the shudder of Prompto's shoulders as the hot air hit the corner of his ear. ”Back in first grade, I had so much fun playing with you,”he chuckled, yet there was a melancholy sadness to his tone Prompto didn't miss. ”Like – I was just so damn happy to have you as a friend, yeah? And then you left and I thought I'd never see you again, except then it was high school all of sudden and there you were, as if waiting for me, and – I had my friend again.”

Humming softly, Prompto thought of his first year of school. He'd still had the Argentums back then, the two people he would forever call mom and dad, because they had been his family, a few years of domestic peace and bliss before things got bad again. He'd been pudgy and round like the football they'd tossed around in gym class, but where some of his peers had turned to jeering at him, Noctis had decided they should be friends instead. A small smile sprung on Prompto's lips as he thought of all the fun they'd had together, but soon it melted away. That Noctis had wanted him even after all the years they'd spent apart was a miracle he still couldn't quite believe in.

”I don't think I'm that boy anymore.”

A lot had happened since the early spring day when Prompto had woken up ready to school, and had ended up at the hospital instead, sitting in a plastic chair and swinging his feet idly as he picked at his cast and waited for his social worker to show up. A new home was – something he couldn't remember having before, though he knew he had, but Prompto had thought the Argentums would be his forever. They'd been nice, and had loved him, but a lot had happened since and he no longer knew if there was anything lovable left in him after it all. The car crash had taken everything from him.

Noctis' sigh startled him. Prompto, not having noticed his tears until a warm breath froze the wet trails on his cheeks, used his free hand to dab at his face almost furiously.

”You don't _have_ to be, Prom,” Noctis spoke, tone pleading. His hand was almost too warm around Prompto's wrist. ”I'm not a kid anymore, either. That's what happens when people grow up, okay? We grew up, we got different. That's not a bad thing.”

It felt like a bad thing, but then again, everything felt like a bad thing to Prompto. Releasing a shaky breath, he then forced himself into a deep inhale, trying to remain calm the way Cor and his therapist had taught him to. If he could breathe properly, then that'd be something, at least.

”I really like being friends with you,” he murmured. Noctis laughed, at first, and squeezed his wrist, but then – something almost like a sniffle.

”Yeah, me too,” Noctis whispered, ”and that's why – that's why I get so scared for you, Prom, 'cause I'll see you struggling and there's nothing I can do to actually help you, and other times I'll–”

He cut himself off, never finishing his words no matter how long Prompto waited for him, but he squeezed at Prompto's wrist instead.

”Oh.”

In the firm squeeze of Noctis' fingers, a question was embedded. It was the same thing everyone always wanted to know about, Cor and his therapist and his doctor and the nurses taking his bloodwork, the one Prompto was so over hearing and answering. When he'd first understood Noctis' question, he'd thought he'd feel anger and frustration over it, as was the norm still, but instead, all he had was a numb sort of exhaustion; also a norm.

”It's not mine,” Prompto sighed, thinking of the dirty needle stabbing ink into his skin at one home and the burn of a scalding-hot iron being pressed over it in another. ”I didn't – I didn't do it.”

From the silence, it was clear to him Noctis didn't know what to do with that offered bit of information. No-one ever had, when they first heard about it or saw the marks; the teacher who'd seen the swollen, infected tattoo peeking out from his sleeve had thought it Prompto's own doing, and the same had happened when the same mother who'd burned it away had taken him to the hospital to have the burn treated.

”Oh,” Noctis gasped eventually. ”Do you – have you – elsewhere?”

Prompto stared at the ceiling. Took a breath, released, took another one, trying to decide between answering the question and avoiding it. His ribs moved under the lenght of his arms, up and down, up and down, just as his mind refused to settle for a solution all of him would be satisfied with.

”I mean,” he began, after a while, simply because the silence had started to grow just a touch too long, ”I guess – I've thought about it, 'cause sometimes I'd like to make the pain mine. Control it. I've – tried, once... No, twice in the past, sorry, but that was years ago, and I didn't really get that far 'cause I'm just too damn afraid of hurting even more, so. It didn't really work out for me. Probably wouldn't, if I still tried.”

Noctis was silent for a long, long while. ”I hope you won't,” he choked out, fingers like an iron weight around Prompto's wrist. ”Try, I mean.”

Prompto huffed. ”Yeah, me too.”

It'd be nice, to have a life full of not-hurt and other good things. He didn't think he'd ever find one, because everything was already against him – his past, his hurt, his trauma, but also Gladio and the soul-shattering knowledge he more or less had a relationship waiting for him, only that he might never be okay enough to enter one. Prompto knew it wasn't healthy of him, but already the thought of losing Gladio had become his worst fear; he'd gladly take a dozen new homes and a future without art if it meant he could have his true mate by his side.

His willingness to offer his art – his dream, all he was good for – was the telling point, really.

”Can you go get Cor?” Prompto asked, mouth suddenly dry and moss-like around his tongue. He felt the bed shift as Noctis jerked into a half-sitting position next to him, a mess of black hair entering the edge of his vision.

”Wha–” Noctis started, his voice suddenly tight and laced with worry. Prompto breathed out, felt his chest move; breathed in, felt his chest move. ”Prom? What's wrong?”

”Can you go get him?” Prompto repeated, still breathing. All of sudden, he was certain that if he stopped thinking about breathing, about making himself breathe, his body would stop on the spot and die. Whatever automatic system was supposed to keep his lungs working had disappeared without a trace and Prompto didn't know what to do anymore.

”Uh,” Noctis started, halfway out of the bed already, ”yeah, he's – he's in his office right? Are you okay? Will you be okay while I'm gone?”

Prompto laughed, then breathed in to replace the air lost from his lungs. ”I'm okay,” he smiled, ”just go get him, yeah?”

He'd be okay as long as he kept on breathing, and it wasn't something he was about to stop doing because he didn't want to die. The metallic clack of the door handle being pushed down echoed in the room, loud enough to startle Prompto, who continued breathing even as he listened to the sounds of Noctis running down the staircase. A sudden sense of dread flooded him, the fear that Noctis might fall and hurt himself, kill himself even, but then the steps quieted and were replaced by rapid knocks muffled by all the building material between them.

A moment later, Cor was in the hallway. A hushed conversation, during which Prompto breathed in and out, in and out, long and deep because he could, and wondered just what was wrong with him, because he clearly wasn't having a panic attack; his body had just given up on breathing, leaving the gears stuck on manual rather than automatic. As Cor's footfalls approached, Prompto breathed, waiting, and when the sounds stopped in the doorway he twisted his head to the side and tried to smile.

Cor didn't look particularly harried – too used to mentally ill people to freak out any longer – but the subtle shift of emotions on his face, crossing from slightly nervous to carefully relieved, still managed to spread something warm in the gap between Prompto's lungs, where his heart was supposed to have been. While Cor crossed the floor, Prompto breathed in, tried to come up with the words to explain his failing body, and then breathed out when Cor sat down on the bed by his hip.

”I don't think I'm breathing right.”

Cor smiled at him and pressed his palm on Prompto's chest, right next to Prompto's ice-cold fingers. Noctis hovered in the doorway.

”Let's have a look, then,” and so Prompto continued breathing, his chest rising into Cor's palm and pulling away from it, in and out, just like before.

* * *

Time continued to pass. The last year of high school passed in a blur for both Prompto and Noctis, who found themselves increasingly busy with school work, college admissions, and life in general; the day Prompto submitted his art portfolio to RoTAA was simultaneously the happiest day of his life because he knew he had it in a bag, but also the saddest one, because he knew Noctis would be staying in Insomnia.

Gladio, in the meanwhile, did what he'd been doing the past couple years – finished his degree in physiotherapy while continuing his studies at the Crownsguard Military academy. He helped train recruits at the gym and shadowed his father through this and that, sparred with Noctis and Ignis, thought of Prompto and tried to keep all the negative at bay. He treasured his Cosmogony present – a small watercolor portrait of Gladio, Iris, and Clarus – and the usual birthday card, nervously delighted by the subtly changing scent clinging to them. The caramel wasn't quite so dark and bitter anymore, and wings of hope threatened to steal Gladio's heart away as soon as he realized what it was.

Graduation day came. Gladio showed up with a bouquet of flowers and a proud grin; Prompto received them with fumbling thanks and a pair of snappy fingerguns. They had their first proper meeting at the restraurant rented out by Regis, where they sat in a corner and simply talked about things, so nervous at first but increasingly open towards the end of the day. By the time Cor herded Prompto out of the restaurant, they'd managed to get to know each other, had brought smiles to each other's faces and happy laughs into the thinning air between them, yet as soon as they were separated, their shared joy disappeared.

Summer came, and then the day Prompto packed his belongings into Cor's car and set out for a long, long drive to Fenestala City.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Fenestala City, mid-winter means Cosmogony Festival, which in turn means that all the world leaders will congregate in one place. For Prompto, this means that not only will his best friend be in the city, but so will his true mate.

Fenestala City was, for the most of it, more or less what Prompto had expected. A fairytale-like castle hanging mid-air above the old city center, streets and plazas sprawling in every possible direction; when Prompto first arrived, the mountaintops surrounding the city were ablaze in all possible shades of green, but within weeks, they grew first orange and then white as snow covered the entire peninsula. The buildings were old, the city expensive, yet in the total anonymity of it all, Prompto thought he'd found peace.

He lived in a small one-room apartment not too far away from the Academy. The floorboards were cold against his feet more often than not, but the flowers on the handrail of his Altissian balcony grew bright and colorful well into autumn. In the mornings, Prompto would wake up to a rush of people outside and pull open the curtains to reveal a small plaza already full of people, and the sweet scent of flowers – so familiar, but different yet – would greet him as soon as he cracked the door open.

At first, everything was perfect. His little apartment, the small café across the plaza, the grannies on the first floor who pinched his cheeks when he asked them for directions; the Royal Tenebraean Academy of Arts, full of people like him, full of art and history and teachers welcoming the first-year students with open arms. Prompto didn't find anyone like Noctis in his classes – nor was he interested in that – but he made casual friends here and there, acquintances who'd meet him up for a cup of coffee to discuss a piece of theory or to gripe about a particularly annoying teacher. He had _fun_ in a way he couldn't quite remember experiencing before, as if he'd been freed from all his burdens and constraints, yet as his treacherous mind whispered during the darkerning hours of the night – it wasn't something that could last.

When Prompto's first Cosmogony in Fenestala rolled around, so did Noctis' annual visit to the city, and wherever Noctis went, Gladio followed. Thinking of Gladio still brought a nervous tremble to Prompto's hands, an agitation he hadn't yet learned to fully surpass; yet as the day of Noctis' arrival neared, Prompto found himself dreading his best friend as well. Only a scarce few months had passed since Prompto left Insomnia at the end of the summer, but already so much had happened, not all of it good.

Or, to be completely honest – only good things had befallen Prompto, and so he, in need of something familiar, had set out in search something to fill the missing void in his chest.

* * *

Stomping the worst of the snow from his boots, Prompto turned to grin at Noctis, who looked like a veritable snowman under his thick, snow-covered layers. The narrow awning did little to protect them from the giant snowstorm blurring the Fenestalan skyline, but Prompto still reached over to brush the worst of the soggy mess from Noctis' clothes, an action that was returned with enough care to shatter Prompto's ducktaped heart once more. They'd had their fun, playing and wrestling in the swiftly piling snow like the pair of first graders they'd once been, but exhaustion and chill had eventually began to sink in – and Prompto was sure Noctis was feeling much the same.

”C'mon, lets get inside,” he laughed, nudging his friend with his elbow before pulling the front door open. A rush of warm air met his face in seconds, and though Prompto knew the temperatures in the hallway were several degrees cooler than the decent warmth of the actual apartments, it still felt like a brush of heaven on his face.

In the hallway, they both sagged. Noctis huffed out a tired laugh and shook his head, watery snow dribbling from the thick cables of his beanie, already forming dark spots on his shoulders; Prompto snorted and pushed him forward.

”Let's go, Noct, I'm on the second floor,” he said, stepping into the slightly curving staircase with practiced ease. ”We can make hot chocolate and–oh, Aurus, hi.”

The nearest door opened wide as one of Prompto's neighbors – a young alpha about his own age, tall and buff as Gladio yet quiet as Ignis – peeked his head into the hallway. He was holding onto a round tin container sparkling in all the colors of the rainbow, and even as a pleased warmth flooded Prompto's chilled veins, he still found himself biting back a sigh.

”Prompto,” Aurus greeted him, handing over the container. His eyes stayed on Noctis for a moment too long and Prompto shifted on his feet, too tired to take the sudden frustration. ”Mrs. Cuprum says you should stop by one of these days.”

Despite his souring mood, Prompto accepted the tin container with a bright smile and an eager nod. Aurus – kind enough to help and entertain the numerous geriatrics in their building – didn't deserve the tantrum building in Prompto's lungs, and the assortment of handmade butter cookies in the container _was_ bound to be delicious.

There had been a time when Prompto was afraid of Aurus, simply because he was afraid of all alphas bigger than himself. The doors weren't enough to block all scents from shifting through the apartment, and every now and then, Prompto would tilt his nose up to find a thick, dusty alpha scent drifting in from somewhere, and at first, it had been nearly enough to drive him out of the apartment. Other than Prompto, Aurus, and the middle-aged beta banker who lived in the apartment next to Prompto's, everyone in the building was in the last decades of their lifespan, their scents as weak and withered as their bodies; that had never been a problem to Prompto. But Aurus and his scent, stinking up the whole place... getting used to it had taken weeks, if not months, and Prompto still wasn't entirely sure if he liked it or not. If nothing else, running into it no longer made him anxious, though, and that was a victory far larger than he'd have liked to admit.

”Ooh, thank you!” He tucked the container under his arm and glanced at Noctis, ignoring the small frown on Aurus' face. ”I'll try to visit her but tell her my thanks just in case, okay?”

Nodding, Aurus stepped back into his apartment. ”I will,” he said, the soft smile on his face almost like a beacon of light in the dimly lit hallway – except that today, Prompto had no interest in being treated kindly at all. ”Have a good night.”

Prompto barely had the time to return the greeting before Aurus was gone. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned to Noctis and tilted his head towards the next floor, a silent signal to get a move on; slow at first, Noctis eventually followed, silent and clearly dubious. Fumbling for his keys, Prompto sighed, suddenly wondering if this had been a good idea after all.

”Well, this is me,” he forced out all the same. As soon as he felt the lock give, he pulled the door open, motioning at Noctis to get in. Though Prompto had lived in far worse conditions than this, and knew exactly how messy Noctis could get if left unsupervised, he still felt his stomach roll in discomfort. The apartment was small and crowded with art supplies and heavy textbooks, but worse yet, the scent of last week's alpha probably still clung to his sheets.

Noctis looked neither disapproving nor upset when he gazed around the kitchen-living-bedroom. ”Looks nice,” he commented with a small shrugg, grimacing when the soaked edge of his scarf rubbed on his face. ”Bet the view is nice from that balcony door – it faces the plaza, yeah?”

”When it's not snowing, yeah,” Prompto grinned. He kicked off his boots and moved a little deeper into the apartment, tugging off his hat and gloves as he went. ”You can, uh, put your stuff on the heater if they're soaked through, but they probably won't have enough time to dry if you're gonna be leaving tonight.”

Prompto spared a moment to think of the Glaives stuck watching them from the oatmeal-thick snowstorm outside, but quickly shoved that thought away. The room fell quiet as they both continued undressing, stripping off coats and fluffy winter pants, melting globs of snow dropping everywhere. Though silence was not a stranger to them, this time it felt awkward, Prompto's anxiety skyrocketing with each second he spent trying to untie the wet knot holding his pants up.

”So, who was that guy?”

Though Prompto had been expecting the question, hearing Noctis actually voice it still startled him. Blinking, the turned to look at his friend. ”Huh? Oh, Aurus? We're neighbors, I'm – I'm pretty sure I've told you about him?”

Noctis shrugged and stepped out of his winter pants with a grimace Prompto mirrored when he spotted the wet spots on Noctis' knees. ”Yeah, well. I don't think he liked me that much. What's with the container?”

Prompto glanced at the tin container. ”It's got cookies,” he said, aiming for calmness but probably failing. The wet knot of his dawstring pants fell open and he stepped out of them, happy to notice that unlike Noctis' jeans, his sweatpants had remained dry. ”From Mrs. Cuprum. She keeps on trying to set us up.”

The last bit was after a moment of hesitation, Prompto desperate to talk but unsure if it was a topic he should bring up. When he stole a quick look over his left shoulder, he saw Noctis standing still, face blank in thought; then, after a nerve-wracking three seconds during which Prompto felt ready to crumble, he shrugged.

”Huh.” Finally stripped from all his winter wear, Noctis picked up all the soaked garments and looked around in question. ”Is that something you're into?”

Too flustered to answer, Prompto grabbed his own clothes and marched into the bathroom. ”Just leave your gloves and hat on the heater, and I'll hang your coat up,” he murmured, sliding his own jacket onto a coat hanger which he then suspended from the curtain rod. Noctis did as ordered, and even spread Prompto's own mittens and beanie over the old radiator blazing with heat.

The silence between them grew too long, and so it was Noctis who spoke up next: ”You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

Prompto huffed, sniffled, his face scrunching up into a tearless sob just as he'd slipped the last coat hanger over the rod. Still too overwhelmed to speak up, the pushed the coats and pants as far away from each other as possible on the curtain rod, then retreated back into the living area, doing his best to avoid the pools of ice-cold snow water in the entranceway.

He didn't know if Aurus was something he'd be interested in it, because Aurus treated him with kindness and disapproved of the endless chain of men Prompto brought home once or twice a week, and if Aurus had any interest in Prompto, then he'd done his best to hide it. The perfect life Prompto's mind had began constructing right after his first run-in (or run-from) with Gladio had no space for love interests or dating – or Prompto's latest hobby, fucking.

”Do you think I should've waited?” he blurted out all of sudden, spinning around so fast his woolen socks threatened to slide on the bare stretch of floor below him. Noctis stared at him, first startled and then puzzled, but before he could get a change to speak up, Prompto was already throwing himself across the floor and into his friend's arms.

”Hey, hey, hey,” Noctis gasped, alarmed, when Prompto wrapped himself around his neck. ”What's – nevermind, I'm here, I got you, buddy, I got you.”

Prompto's breath rolled in his chest as if stuck there as he pressed as close to Noctis as physically possible. He had no tears to shed but his face scrunched up all the same, his muscles tensing up with enough force to startle him, and he gasped for air, trying to fill his lungs despite the lump stuck in his throat.

He hadn't been held like this since he'd said his goodbyes to Cor. He'd been touched, of course; arms slung over his shoulders as he and his classmates walked from one classroom to another, the teasing embraces of men asking for permission, the tight hold of others as they found pleasure in his body. But as wanted as all those touches had been, they had, ultimately, lacked the comfort of an old friend and the trust cultivated over the years.

Clutching the back of Noctis' woolen shirt, Prompto buried his face in his best friend's neck. He'd missed the way Noctis smelled, he realized now; it was something ancient and powerful, like nothing else that existed on Eos, and despite the edge of an alpha musk that had appeared around their first summer holiday from high school, it was much the same as it had been when they were little kids. Prompto had no words to actually describe the scent – it was what a person who had never smelled electricity might thing that it smells like – but that familiarity was a remnant of days past, of times when things had still been alright in his life. The king had a very similar scent, but it also burned in the air around the Glaives who frequently used magic in their lives; it was the smell of the Crystal, probably, but Prompto didn't care about that.

To him, it was simply Noctis, the alpha who was his best friend, and whom he knew to be no threat no matter what his anxiety occasionally told him.

Still too overwhelmed to speak up, Prompto nosed at Noctis' neck and the scent glands partially hidden under the collar of his shirt, when Noctis' body suddenly tensed, his head tilting down towards his shoulder to block Prompto away.

”Prom,” he murmured, alarmed and alarming, just as Prompto let out a short, quiet cry.

”No, no, no, just let me – just let me smell, please,” Prompto babbled, dropping his forehead to Noctis' shoulder as the tears finally began to spill. ”I promise, I just need to smell you, please Noct–”

A moment of hesitation, during which Prompto cried into the soft knit of Noctis' sweater, but eventually Noctis relented, his body relazing as a slow exhale ruffled the hair atop Prompto's head.

”Right,” he murmured, ”let's just get settled somewhere first, okay?”

There wasn't really anything else for them to sit on but Prompto's bed – which doubled as a couch on the days he needed one, piled high with pillows and extra blankets – and a thorny ball of anxiety and disgust rocked in the pit of Prompto's stomach when he let Noctis walk him over to it. Numbed to his own scent, he still knew what the sheets smelled like; partly of him, a nest like the bed at Cor's had been, but also of old pleasure and alpha spunk. Falling asleep in the mess made Prompto feel dirty and used, but in the void empty of all other hurt, it was just what he needed – or so he had convinced himself, anyway.

They ended up sitting on the bed, Noctis with his back against the wall and Prompto staddling his lap, doing his best at curling up small as possible. He'd grown so much in the past year or two, his body shooting up like a weed, and though he and Noctis had always been roughly the same height, he still felt massive in his friend's arms.

Tears flowed freely from his eyes, now, soaking Noctis' shoulder where Prompto's face was shoved into his neck, nose hovering a breath's width above the scent glands. This time Noctis didn't protest, simply sat still and rubbed circles into Prompto's trembling back, silent until the tears and the cries began to thin before dying completely. Prompto still sniffled, snot threatening to stain Noctis' shirt, but soon a quiet, defeated sort of exhaustion began to win him over.

He was so, so lost, with nowhere left to go.

”The reason Aurus didn't like you,” Prompto murmured, loosening his grip on Noctis' shirt when he finally noticed the steady ache in his fingers. Halfway through the sentence, he clamped his mouth shut and held onto his breath even as he felt like his body was about to rip apart at the seams.

A long pause later, Noctis seemed to realize Prompto was waiting for him. ”Yeah?” The question was quiet, not as steadfast as it could have been, but Prompto had expected as much.

”It's cause he thought I was bringing you over to f-fuck.”

In the short silence that ensued, Prompto felt like screaming. The sound burned in his throat and at the back of his mind, a desperate need to unleash _something_ to show the sheer volume of all he was experiencing in that moment, but he couldn't. He didn't have it in him to be loud, to attract that much attention; he might have screamed if he saw someone get hit by a car, or if someone spooked him by jumping around the corner, but out of his own volition... no. The voice wouldn't have come out even if he'd tried to, and so he didn't, instead reverting back to hiding.

The chest under Prompto's upper body expanded, a prelude to whatever words Noctis had at ready, but Prompto couldn't take it yet so he began babbling instead. ”Should I have waited?” he asked, voice shrill and high. ”Because, because, it's probably bad that I didn't and I know he's not gonna like–”

A hand on his mouth silenced him. Prompto, too shocked to continue, fell silent and shifted his gaze up, up, until the green of the woolen sweater was exchanged for the sad blue of Noctis' eyes. Even after the hand fell from his lips, he remained too stunned to even think of speaking up.

”Are you–” Noctis began, quickly cutting himself off. His voice was dripping with the same kind of sadness visible in his eyes, and Prompto, were he not so overwhelmed, would likely have burst out in tears over it. ”Fuck, I don't even know what to...”

It took a moment of Noctis clearning his throat and opening his mouth like a fish flopping on dry land, but eventually he found his voice once more. This time, the startled, urgent edge was gone, and only something almost forcefully soothing remained.

”Okay, so,” he sighed, pausing for another breath before continuing: ”First of all, did you actually – was that all – did you want it?”

Prompto rubbed his cheek against Noctis' sweater and released a wet, stuttery laugh. ”Yeah,” he chuckled, shifting into a more comfortable position. The wool under his face was simultaneously a near-confusing mixture of softness and rough fibres, the perfect tactile sensation to give him something to think about, a little distraction in the midst of of the stormy barrage he was trying to weather.

Every man he had ever brought into this apartment, he had wanted; every touch on his body, he had consented to. The vast majority of his experiences had been on the positive side, or would have been if he'd been able to experience such a thing; but either way, the rare creeps and assholes he'd left far behind him. He'd started with omegas of slight build, then moved on to the betas with their dull scents, and finally, the alphas; he'd gone from small omegan cocks to knots nearly the size of his wrist, and he'd loved it all. He'd adored the bruises on his hips and the dull ache in his hole, the rank smell of yesterday's sex in the morning. The dirtiness of it all left him reeling, yes, but still he always went back for more.

”I wanted it.”

Though he spoke no lies, the words felt like one in his mouth all the same. Prompto squirmed and wiped his sleeve against his nose, his eyes burning with drying salt, and waited for Noctis to react; good or bad, the ball was no longer in his court.

”You're crying about it, though,” Noctis murmured after another moment of hesitation. He touched the side of Prompto's faze, barely brushing his fingertips against the dying heat of the earlier crying session, but it felt so tender Prompto could have cried.

”Yeah, well.” He shrugged against Noctis' shoulder. ”You know me, always crying about something.”

Noctis hummed quietly but said nothing. His hands held Prompto just that much tighter, however, and in that moment, that was more than enough.

”I'm not okay, Noct,” Prompto sighed. He nuzzled his face against Noctis' shoulder, wincing when he felt the electricity building in his hair from all the friction; the sting was more than a little uncomfortable, but he didn't want to let go either. Not yet. Not for a long while.

Noctis sighed. ”Yeah...” he trailed off into silence, and for a moment he just picked at the fabric of Prompto's sweater. Then, he sighed again – for the hundreth time that day, probably – and began speaking. ”So I know Gladio can be... kind of a jerk, sometimes, and really dumb too, but he's not... he's not someone who hurts people who haven't done anything real bad first, okay? He's rash, yeah, but not _that_ rash.”

Prompto chuckled through a watery sniffle. ”That doesn't mean he wouldn't be mad, though.”

The logical, reasonable, therapy-addled part of his brain told him he was wrong. The fuzzy, blurry mess of tangled threads of pain and fear that had found home between his heart and his lungs, however, didn't agree; instead, it told him he deserved everything bad in the world. It showed him pictures of a perfect life while listing him all the reasons he'd never have it, literally tangling it in front of his face like in the comics with carriage-pulling chocobos and gysahl greens attached to fishing rods. It was always in his face, but never in his hands, and so Prompto did his best to crush those dreams outright.

”I'm pretty sure they overturned the laws requiring omegas to remain virgins till marriage, like, two hundred years ago or so,” Noctis spoke after a moment. It was an attempt at a joke, at diffusing the situation before it could tumble into something far worse, but while it brought a twitchy smile to Prompto's lips, it did little to help his actual mood.

”Doesn't mean he couldn't be _mad_ over it,” he repeated, a little more forceful this time. Noctis sighed.

”You're not... engaged to him, or anything like that, Prom,” he explained quietly, almost pleading. ”You know you don't have to have any sort of a relationship with him at all, right? I know Cor's gotta have told you as much. And, also – you, uh, you do realize that, uh, Gladio's... not exactly a nun, either... right?”

Snorting, Prompto nodded against Gladio's chest. It was a topic they'd very briefly talked about in one of their letters – Gladio vaguely mentioning ”going out” every now and then, and Prompto more or less giving him permission to do so – but even if they hadn't, he would've assumed as much. Gladio was simply too gorgeous to go without dates – the romantic or the more handsy kind both – for long, and though jealously bubbled thick and gooey in Prompto's stomach, he knew he had nothing to actually complain about.

”Yeah,” he murmured, ”I know.”

”And you're... okay with that?”

Prompto was, and said as much. ”I mean, I'm jealous, of course,” he hurried to add when he saw the doubtful expression on Noctis' face, ”but it's not like... he owes it to me to not have sex with people. And he asked for my permission, kinda. He didn't need to do that.”

”Riight.” Noctis smacked his lips together. ”So if you can accept him sleeping with other people, why do you think he wouldn't accept you doing the same?”

At first, laughter bubbled from Prompto's throat, but then tears welled in his eyes and he found himself crying once more. Like a hedgehog curling up in a ball to protect itself, he pressed closer to Noctis, hiding his face and pulling his knees in as far as he could. His hands found the front of Noctis' sweater once more and held onto it, tugging lumps of thick knitwork into the gaps between his fingers until he had something to squeeze and pull at.

The wet spot on Noctis' shoulder hadn't even dried yet, and already he was shedding new tears over it.

”I just want him so bad!” Prompto cried out, the words louder than he'd intended, but now that he'd started, he found he could no longer stop himself. ”I want, I want to be with him and to marry him and to give him his heir, but I'm so damn afraid I'll never be okay enough for any of that!”

It wasn't a matter of him being good enough; that was something his therapist back in Insomnia had managed to teach him. Different people liked different things, she'd told him, but in general, she'd call Prompto nice enough a person that his character shouldn't be a problem to most people. It was his health that truly kept him away from Gladio, his inability to trust without clinging, his lack of self-confidence and faith in his own person.

A childhood of hurt was not so easily erased; it was the first thing Cor and his therapist had told him. It would take time and effort to get back on his feet, and though the logical part of Prompto's brain knew that the progress he'd made in the past few years was already a minor breakthrough on its own, but still he felt it wasn't enough. He wasn't yet ready for a relationship, and though he had another five and a half years left before his self-set deadline, he was already buckling under the pressure.

Noctis' silence continued long and loud, and Prompto knew it was because there was nothing that could possibly refute his earlier words.

* * *

There was light pooling in through the thin curtains. For a long, sleepy while, Prompto stared at the golden splotches on the wall above his bed, wondering just how late he'd slept; then reality dawned on him, and he all but jumped out of bed in his haste to run to the window. He pulled the curtains to the side and gasped in delight: the snowstorm had let up. It had still been going at full blast when Noctis had left the previous night, bundled up in the back of an expensive car, and Prompto had gone to bed expecting to see the blizzard continue in the morning.

Where the previous day had been gray and dark, the morning greeted Prompto with blue skies and sunshine so bright it nearly blinded him where it reflected from the thick, fluffy piles of pure, untouched snow. For a dazingly long moment, Prompto stared at the picture-perfect scenery, but then the chill finally hit him and he rushed into the bathroom. Use the toilet, scrub the teeth, swallow the morning meds; in moments, Prompto was done. A fire burned in his chest that he couldn't ignore, and he stuck a bowl of water and oats into the microwave before finally pulling his clothes on. He ate his porridge drizzled with honey and some frozen ulwaat berries, then threw his winter wear on and grabbed his camera.

The air was crispy on his face. On the snow-covered front porch, Prompto paused, sticking the camera in his pocket to keep it out of the way while he brushed the snow away, thinking of his neighbors with their weak legs and walkers; it was something Aurus did most mornings, but for once, it looked like Prompto was the first one up. He didn't mind, though, not when he had an untouched city to all for himself.

Photography was not his most preferred medium, though it had been his first; the Argentums had gifted him with a relatively cheap digital camera, which Prompto had loved but lost fairly soon after their deaths. At some point, he'd had a phone with a shitty, pixelated camera, which he'd mostly used to sneak shots of pets and, eventually, the statues in the parks he used to hang out in. His current camera – an expensive Lokton, bought along with three different types of lense and a purple camera bag – had been a gift from Cor.

There weren't a lot of people out and about, though Prompto could see curious heads peeking out of windows nearly everywhere. The snow plowers hadn't been by either, yet; they'd clear the bigger streets first, and leave the small cobblestone streets for later. Camera in hand, Prompto meandered through the streets and plazas, pausing here and there to snap a picture of this or that. A tree branch hanging low under the weight of a thick coat of snow, another sprinkled with icy crystals; the little scratchy marks of a bird hopping on the ground, and the larger marks of a cat on the prowl; even a few children running around in the distance, their happy laughter like music in the wintery scene.

The first day of Cosmogony was still two days away, but with the weekend at hand, people had clearly started their celebrations and preparations ahead of time. Far under the castle, Prompto could just spot the makings of a massive pyre, which he'd only ever witnessed on TV and the newspapers before. The sight of it gave him a slight pause, a pleasant anticipation wiggling his guts; for all the bad stuff going on in his life, he really did like Fenestala City.

Whistling a little tune, Prompto continued his way, moving wherever his feet took him. He felt the chilly air nipping at his cheeks but hardly cared, too lost in the world to mind such a minor inconvenience; by the time he walked onto the riverside plaza, his fingers felt like they'd frozen solid, but that, too, was nothing compared to the beauty of the snow-covered, waterless fountain in the very center of the plaza.

Despite his great mood, Prompto knew he'd need to head back home soon lest he turn into a full icicle, and so he focused his attention on the fountain, determined to picture the scenery as accurately as possible. Were it the summer, he would've brought his sketching pad with him, but mid-winter, such things were impossible. In the end, Prompto was so focused on watching the world through his lense that he never noticed anyone approaching until he heard his name being called.

”Prompto?”

Startled, Prompto dropped the camera to his chin and spun around. At first, he was met with that split-second awkwardness that always preceded recognition, a blankness he knew was visible in the confused blink of his eye; then, as his brain finally caught up with his eyes, a surprised gasp fell from his lips.

”Gladio?”


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cosmogony Festival brings Gladio to the streets of Fenestala City, and then to Prompto.

The tattoo still burned where Gladio lay on top of it, sensitive skin tingling against the cotton of the hospital shirt and the hard surface of the bed below him. It was a feeling he had expected and grown used to in the short few days between the lineart and the now, but between all the other sensations, he was quickly growing overwhelmed. The IV line in his hand itched something awful, and though his entire face felt like an over-eager dentist had gotten trigger-happy with the numbing shots, his skull itself ached so bad he wanted nothing more than to throw it out of the window and into the gray sleet plaguing Insomnia. Still, there was nothing for Gladio to actually do but grit his teeth and try to bear it, and that's what he did.

He had a vague memory of a white-faced Noctis standing at the foot of his bed, but whether that was reality or his imagination, Gladio could not tell. Either way, by the time the meds and the splitting headache subsided enough for him to take note of his surroundings, he soon saw that the room was empty save for him and his father.

Seeing him looking around, Clarus put away his phone and stood up. ”Back to the world of the living, are we?” he murmured, a weary – heart-broken – smile on his face as he approached the bed. Gladio, feeling shame flood his veins, looked at the door instead. ”They had to sedate you for the stitches, and you might have a slight concussion, but there shouldn't be anything permanently wrong with you.”

Grunting, Gladio accepted the spoonful of ice chips Clarus shoved at his mouth. Seconds later, he realized he couldn't see out of his left eye, and, in a fit of sluggish panic, he tried to raise a hand to prod at his face. Clarus stopped him with an apologetic smile and pressed his hand back against the thin blanket covering him waist-down.

”Do you remember what happened?”

Gladio, still feeling like he had cotton in his head instead of brain matter, had to take a moment to think. ”Attack,” he croaked out eventually, then glanced around in search of Noctis – an instinct his fuzzy brain couldn't stop despite the memories floating by. ”Noct?”

”He's okay, just a little shaken; you lost a fair amount of blood.” Clarus paused to spoon more ice into Gladio's mouth before continuing. ”You received a cut overthe left side of your face. It was fairly deep at some points, and extends across your eye lids, which is why there are bandages holding your eye shut. The doctors could see no damage to your actual eye, however. You will recover just fine.”

Gladio swallowed the melted water in his mouth and blinked, trying to clear his vision. His memories of the previous – it had been night, hadn't it, and the sun was only just rising outside the grand windows, so it couldn't have been too long since then – but the memories were still fuzzy around the edges, a dark evening in a mall somewhere, people crowding the floors and Noctis' bony shoulder under his hand, a searing pain across his eye... His face was still so numb he couldn't say if he was frowning or not, but deep inside, where the reasonable thoughts were banging against the cage of the medications in him, Gladio felt dread and fury alike.

”The guy...?” he tried to murmur, but his tongue felt too heavy and thick in his already detached face, and the words came out a slur even he had trouble deciphering. Clarus seemed to understand, however, as he responded with a curt nod.

”He was arrested and taken to custody,” he spoke. ”You did very well, Gladio.”

He'd taken a hit meant for Noctis. Gladio couldn't yet say what the scar on his face – it would be a scar, because he was an Amicitia and a Shield and living for someone else – would look like or how long it ran for, but it would remain there, a reminder of both his actions and his future, his position in the royal court. He'd done what he was supposed to have done.

A long moment of silence passed, Gladio drowsy enough to start falling back to sleep. Before he could nod off for good, however, Clarus released a deep sigh that immediately stole his attention. Tilting his head to side, Gladio turned an assessing eye on his father, very soon realizing he didn't like what he could see.

”Gladio,” Clarus exhaled, ”about the Cosmogony festival--”

Before he could even finish what he had to say, Gladio felt his entire body fill with such indescribable opposition it was a miracle he didn't fly straight off the bed. The Cosmogony festival meant Tenebrae, and Tenebrae meant _Prompto_ –

Expression hardening, Gladio leaned back into the pillows propping him up. ”I will be going,” he spoke, somehow able to form the syllables around the thick flop of his tongue, ”and that is final.”

He still had a few days before the royal retinue was scheduled to depart insomnia. There'd be enough time for Gladio to get back on his feet, to get himself sorted out for the traveling and the protecting. It was _Noctis_ he was supposed to be thinking about, his prince and his future king, the person his heart beat and bled for, and that the first thought to spring to his mind had been an image of Prompto's smile was a crime the Amicitia in him could not – _would_ not – forgive. He would travel to Fenestala City with Noctis, and if he were to run to Prompto while there, so be it – but it wouldn't be _for_ Prompto. It would be for _Noctis_. It _had_ to be for Noctis, because otherwise, there was no point for Gladio's being.

In the tense silence that followed Gladio's declaration, Clarus' expression remained solemn. Nevertheless, Gladio – even with his fuzzy cottoncandy brain – could tell just what he was thinking, because he, too, had a duty to a person who had not been his true mate, and because he, too, was an Amicitia and a Shield and the upholder of traditions two milennia old. If Clarus had guessed or noticed Gladio's instincts calling for Prompto rather than duty, he didn't say anything about it, however; with a deep sigh, he rubbed a hand across his eyes and let the matter drop.

”The doctor will have the last word on the issue,” he reminded – warned – before turning a smile to Gladio and standing up. ”I'll leave you to rest for now, Gladio. Noctis will be coming to see you once he's awake, but you should make use of the hours till then and have a nap of your own. Ignis is watching over him, and will be bringing him over in the morning, I am sure.”

A little twinkle of humor was visible in Clarus' eyes when he spoke and even Gladio huffed out a quiet snort of laughter. With a warm clap against Gladio's left ankle, Clarus began to make his way towards the door, only to stop when Gladio sat up with a startled gasp.

”Wait, wait,” he called out, looking around frantically, ”where's my phone?”

Clarus blinked, surprised, then grinned. ”On the table by your side, son,” he responded. ”It is my understanding that Ignis has already contacted Prompto over the matter, though I suppose a text or two would still not be amiss.”

Through the numbness of his face, Gladio still felt the heat of embarrassment when it sprung on his cheeks. Clarus left the room laughing while Gladio twisted over to find his phone, the little signal light flashing green with either missed calls or unread messages.

The realization that he and Noctis had been out in public when the attack – if it could truly be called that, a lone drunken man stumbling through the crowds with a bottle of booze – took place had hit Gladio like a wave of icy-cold water. If they'd been in public, then there would've been cameras around, and the Crown Prince of Lucis being assaulted in a mall of all places was definitely a topic the press would not sleep on – not in Insomnia, but also not in Tenebrae. Though Gladio still remembered only flashes of what had happened, he was, nevertheless, lucid enough to understand that head wounds meant blood in amounts large enough to scare any witnesses and bystanders.

The idea of Prompto seeing pictures of such a thing while across the continent had been enough to bring a clammy layer of sweat to Gladio's palms. When he turned the screen on, he saw several new texts – friends querying after his wellbeing, a distant relative or two congratulating him on a job well done, and then, finally, Prompto. With shaking fingers, Gladio tapped at the bar until it opened in a new window.

 **Prompto [1:43 a.m.]** : hey, i just got a call from ignis who told me you (and noct) are ok  
**Prompto [1:43 a.m.]** : so thank the six for that, i'd just heard something about it on the radio when he called and was kinda starting to panic lol  
**Prompto [1:44 a.m.]** : anyways  
**Prompto [1:47 a.m.]** : i don't really know what to say but please send me some sorta message when you can okay? i was really scared for you

Gladio stared at the screen long enough for it to turn black, and with a hasty curse on his lips, he thumbed the side buttons until the messages flashed in his eyes once more. There was tangible worry evident in the texts, yet they seemed restrained somehow, and Gladio found himself stuck on the three-minute gap between the last two messages. Three minutes was a long time when it came to texting, long enough to rewrite a message several times over; especially if one was an anxious, stressed-out person with a tendency for panicking over how others perceived him.

Then again, Gladio thought, it could have been caused by a million other things. Three minutes was also a very short time, the lenght of a sudden bathroom break or the time it took to receive a mail order at the front door. Maybe Prompto had just been out of words after receiving the news; hearing that his true mate had been injured must have been a shock to him, especially as his best friend had also been involved. Gladio, certainly, would have been an outright mess if something had happened to Prompto.

Maybe he was just reading too far into things. Maybe there was nothing hidden between the lines of the polite, curt messages, just the awkwardness of a young man who'd never had many friends and who certainly appeared at least slightly fearful of Gladio as well.

Gladio closed his good eye for a moment and took a deep breath, feeling his entire chest heave under it. Tired, aching, and suddenly so, so dejected, Gladio tapped in a message, set the phone away, and tugged the blanket up to his chin. A comfortable cocoon on a tiny hospital bed, he let his eye slip shut and went to sleep.

* * *

Fenestala City, on the morning after the most massive snowstorm Gladio had ever seen, was a winter wonderland like no other. Everywhere he looked, he saw tall piles of snow, the topmost layers glittering in the early morning sun; the gray, muddy slush he associated with winter was nowhere to be seen, and in its place, only a blinding whiteness existed. The cold wind prickled his cheeks and brought a steady burn to the healing scar cutting down the left side of his face, but the sudden twinges of pain were a feature he was already long since used to.

”You should go out,” Noctis had murmured to him that very morning, face white with pain. ”I'm gonna be locked up here for all of today, so you could just, dunno, check out the city or something.”

In a way, it felt wrong to be away from Noctis' side; it was where he was supposed to be, now that he was old enough to actually do his duty rather than simply practice for it. Yet he knew Ignis would spend all his energy on mothering the little prince, _and_ that they'd brought several Glaives with them for this very reason, _and_ that they were in Tenebrae, Lucis' most loyal partner – so, in reality, there really _was_ very little for him to actually do.

Gladio had not been happy when he'd woken up to find Noctis in the midst of a flare-up, but after the previous day, it had been expected. The trained physiotherapist in him had wanted to reprimand Noctis over throwing his health aside, but the friend – the brother, the protector – had seen the red cheeks and bright eyes of a man about to leave behind an extremely good day, and so he'd kept silent. As much as he wanted to see Noctis living a painless life – as much as he wanted to leave the memories of that horrendous car accident far in the past – the past years had taught him that sometimes, the pain was worth whatever caused it in the first place.

Hands stuffed into his pockets, Gladio made his way through the city. He didn't really have a set goal in mind, and was more interested in simply wandering around than searching for something specific, though he couldn't deny the existence of the little whispers at the back of his head, calling out the name of his true mate every time his thoughts strayed too far.

Prompto hadn't said anything about wanting to meet up, though, and so Gladio – very reluctantly, very grudgingly – had not suggested it either. It may have been a mistake on his part, but when Prompto was the one who had, for a series of extremely good reasons, asked for the distance in the first place... Gladio didn't feel that he had the right to reach across it. Not on purpose.

For some while now, he'd been following one of the three rivers that cut the cityscape into distinct sections. Yet another bridge appeared in his field of vision, and Gladio continued walking forward, his gaze examining the old stone balustrade that, in this part of the city, was more likely to be a Solheim-era construct rather than something purely Tenebraean. On the other rivershore, a tall fountain marked the center of a yet another plaza, and Gladio eyed it, wondering if it, too, was as old as the bridge next to it – but then he spotted the figure standing next to it, camera in hand, and all thoughts of history and architecture escaped his mind.

His heart jackrabbiting against his ribcage, Gladio stood still as if rooted in place. When he lifted his nose higher in the air and scented the air, he could just smell the familiar sugar-sweet tinge under the biting frost of the winds, caramel so dark and cloying it stuck to his palate right away. Prompto hadn't yet noticed him, and Gladio knew he only had a precious few seconds to make his decision, because as soon as the winds brought his scent to Prompto's nose, his location would be betrayed.

He'd missed Prompto so much. Slowly, Gladio lifted one boot from the snow and brought it forward, the crunch of his step like a gunshot in the air, then moved the other, then the first once more, continuing until he stood on the bridge – and even then, Prompto still hadn't turned, and though Gladio knew he could leave without being spotted, he didn't.

On the other side of the bridge, he stopped, cleared his throat.

”Prompto?”

The figure turned around with a startle visible through the fluffy winter coat, and Gladio tried to smile when Prompto's wide eyes settled on him. A short moment of shocked silence passed, the two of them taking in each other, but then Prompto stepped forward, his mouth falling open in surprise.

”Gladio?” he asked, still moving forward, but his pace slowing to hesitant steps. Gladio nodded and moved towards him.

”Yeah.” A small smile splayed on his lips, he walked until he stood before Prompto. ”Hey there, buddy.”

Prompto opened his mouth as if to say something, but soon closed it again. His eyes were firmly fixed on Gladio, and Gladio – who knew exactly what the other was staring at – tried to not feel self-conscious under the unwavering, concerned gaze. The medical staff had given him diluted potion to spread over the wound on the first two days after receiving the injury, which had accelerated the first stages of healing without wiping away all the evidence. Right now, the scar was an ugly, raised scab that itched and crackled near constantly, occasionally bleeding sluggishly if Gladio dared move his facial muscles too extensively. He wanted to scratch it off, simply tug at the scab until it peeled off like a piece of tape, but, ultimately, knew better.

Still, it was not a pretty sight. When Prompto looked about ready to burst in tears, Gladio smiled wider and reached over to tap his mittens against his shoulder, a fleeting touch as unintimate as any contact could ever be between the two of them.

”Hey,” he whispered, ”it's okay. I know it looks really ugly right now, but nothing bad happened.”

Gladio didn't think Prompto someone superficial enough to care about scarring – physical or mental, now that he thought about it – but the shocked, tear-eyed expression on his face still hurt. Looking back at things, Gladio wondered if it was the violence and the injury, the implied pain and hurt, that had Prompto so upset; with his past, it was certainly possible. Heart aching for his mate, Gladio turned his smile up another notch and cocked his head to the side.

”Hey, uh,” he said, clearing his throat, ”if you're not busy, how 'bout we get some coffee or something?”

 

For a split second, Gladio was certain that Prompto would turn him down, but then a flustered blush took over the freckled cheeks as the blond jerked his chin down a couple times, his hands still holding the camera to his chest.

”Yeah, sure,” Prompto agreed with a subdued giggle, ”I was starting to get kinda cold anyways, haha.”

Though he appeared visibly nervous, Gladio didn't think him scared or anxious the way he'd tended to get during the rare few times they'd met in the past. His scent remained the same as well, a thick cloud of sweet caramel hanging in the air around them, so tangible that Gladio found himself trying to lick his teeth clean of the sticky residue of imaginary candy. He'd received multiple warnings in the past, of course, in the forms of sex ed classes and embarrassing lectures, stilted discussions with his father and children's tales with his mother when she'd still lived, but none had prepared him for the actual fact. It was the scent that brought a pair of true mates together, so naturally it followed that the same scent had to be unnaturally strong and tempting, or risk getting lost in the masses.

”Sounds good to me,” Gladio laughed, and then – without thinking, without meaning – he reached forward to bump his fist against Prompto's arm. It was barely a nudge, a brush of a thick mitten against the pillowy fluff of a winter coat, through which only a sliver of warmth was shared, yet it was, without a doubt, a touch. Startled by his own boldness, Gladio fumbled for one embarrassingly long second, at loss for words. ”Do you, uh, do you know any good places nearby? I have no idea where we even are, ha.”

Prompto's laughter was like ambrosia to Gladio's ears, and he found himself smiling wide when he saw a little, eager grin spread on Prompto's face.

”There's a really cute little café on the plaza where I live,” the blond explained, all but bouncing on his heels, ”and, uh, I think there are a couple more that are a little closer–”

”I'm fine with anything,” Gladio cut in. He felt woozy just standing in Prompto's presence, as if high on his mate's scent, and would have eagerly ran around the world just for the possibility of another moment shared between them. ”If the one nearest to your place is the easiest...”

He trailed off, giving Prompto the chance to pick up after him. ”Yeah!” the blond cheered, a subtle blush falling on his face as he tucked his chin down in sudden embarrassment. ”I mean, I mean, I'm not in a hurry anywhere but I was already thinking 'bout heading home, and there's a direct bus route to the castle right around the corner from where I live, so I thought it'd be okay–”

Laughing in sheer joy, Gladio raised his palm to silence the blabbering blond. Prompto fell silent with a sheepish look, not a hint of him having taken offense visible on his face, and soon an actual pout replaced the shy smile he'd worn just moment's earlier. The way his eyebrows furrowed together just below his fuzzy beanie was the most adorable sight Gladio had ever seen, and as soon as the realization hit, he found himself fighting against the urge to lay a kiss over the little crease of skin.

”Wanna lead the way?” he asked instead, glancing around the square. ”I think I've got a vague idea of the direction you live in, but I doubt I'd be able to make my way there even if I tried to.”

Their laughter mingled together and Gladio took a few steps forward, moving in the direction Prompto's footsteps – the trail of them clearly visible in the snow – but stopped when he realized Prompto had stilled. Confused, more than a little heartbroken – his mind already fearing that Prompto had changed his mind – Gladio turned around to face his mate, nostrils flaring as he tried to detect any changes in Prompto's scent. But no; as far as he could tell, there was nothing actually wrong, and even the expression that Prompto wore was more hesitant than outright frightened or rejecting.

”Prom...?”

Prompto cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. ”Oh, it's just, I was wondering if...” he cut himself off for a second before lifting up the camera. ”Do you, d'you think we could take a picture together?”

Instantly, Gladio felt himself melt into a pile of goo. They'd hardly talked before, hadn't had that many chances to actually share their lives with each other, and for a very, very long time, Gladio's only picture of Prompto had been a selfie of him and Noctis; though Noctis had texted it over with Prompto's blessings, Gladio had always been more than a little embarrassed of looking at it, just like scrolling through Prompto's social media accounts where they crossed over first with Noctis' and then with Ignis' had made him feel like a stalker.

The promise of a photograph of just the two of them was a lot more than the sum of its parts, and Gladio could only nod enthusiastically as he marched over to Prompto once more. The photograph wouldn't be a secret, something to look at when he was feeling lonely and desperate; it would be a source of pride instead of shame, of joy instead of grief, of so many different good things. Already, Gladio was imagining it on his phone and on his laptop, printed out to be stacked on the mantelpiece along all the other family ptohographs, in a frame in his own room – and yes, he was letting his imagination get the best of it, but after years and years of isolation from his mate, he felt he more than deserved it.

Hope was a thing that had all but ceased to exist between them. Gladio stood behind Prompto's back, close enough to smell not just his personal scent but his shampoo and cologne, and shifted closer until Prompto's shoulder just bumped into his side. He desperately wanted to wrap an arm – or, heavens forbid, two – around Prompto's smaller form, but knew better. All initiatives had to come from Prompto.

Still, as Prompto raised the camera high up against the startlingly blue sky, Gladio found himself grinning in honest joy. The light flashed once, twice, and Prompto had a brief look at the screen before hoisting it up for another three pictures. This time, when he looked through them, he let out a happy little sound and let the screen fade to black before bouncing away with a twirl that had Gladio grinning into the folds of his woolen scarf.

* * *

The café was small and cozy. When Gladio, out of a well-trained instinct, cast a wide glance across the room, he soon saw that roughly half of the tables were occupied by people of all ages, from a handful of old men in one corner to a young mother bursing her baby in the other. It was warm enough inside that he was beginning to sweat under his coat before they were done ordering their drinks – a vanilla latte for Gladio and a caramel macchiato for Prompto – and as soon as they reached a table, Gladio had to begin unwrapping himself or risk boiling alive.

They had fun. Though conversation halted at times, Gladio nevertheless enjoyed himself, and thought that Prompto appeared much the same. There was a new, exhilirating sort of a freedom hanging in the air between them, which hadn't been there at their last meeting before Prompto left for Tenebrae, or during the longer talk after his and Noctis' high school graduation, and Gladio found himself infatuated over the blushing, happily chatting blonde before him. Prompto's hands drew figures in the air when he spoke, and once he got started on a topic or another, there was no stopping him – not that Gladio would have stopped him.

Only a scarce few months had passed since Prompto's arrival in Fenestala City, and already something had changed. Maybe it was the fact that they were now old enough to properly interact with each other, but even so, Gladio had to tell himself not to expect too much, because the new openness still didn't necessarily have to mean anything. The photograph and the ease at which they conversed could be simple coincidences, little slips and cracks in the demeanor of a man not yet whole, but it was so, so, so hard for Gladio to focus on that when he finally had Prompto before him.

Eventually, their drinks ran out, and though they still continued talking after that, the inevitable was nevertheless approaching. Some two hours and countless other customers had passed when Gladio pinched his lips together and saw Prompto wearing a similar expression, both of them glancing at the door and the windows, the clock on the far wall; Gladio didn't want to get up and leave, hoped that Prompto was feeling the same, but what was to come was already coming and they both knew it.

”So, uh, I should probably let you go already, huh,” Prompto murmured. He tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear and grinned shyly. ”I know you said you've got the entire day off, but it's getting kinda late and I don't wanna steal you away for too long.”

Were they a little closer and more comfortable with each other, Gladio would've spoken the joke sitting on his tongue – that since they were true mates, Prompto already had a right to him and his time. He didn't, however, instead sighing deeply while a hand rubbed through his hair.

”Yeah, I guess I should get going.” Outside, the sun had shifted to the side, and now shone directly through the large windows. ”I – I really enjoyed spending time with you.”

Prompto nodded. The shy grin on his face dimmed into something softer, more tender, and he nodded. So quick Gladio would have missed it if he'd looked away, the blond reached across the small, round table to tap their knuckles together, his face flushing a sweet shade of red Gladio knew he'd never be able to forget.

”Me too,” Prompto whispered, gaze flickering between Gladio's eyes and the tabletop. ”It was nice.”

When they dressed up and left the café, a pleased kind of regret filled Gladio's being. The air outside was as cold as it had been those two hours earlier; it nipped at his cheeks and nose, turned white where his exhales mixed in with it. Awkward silence took them over as Prompto, after a long moment of hesitation Gladio didn't know how to break, began to drag his feet towards one of the apartment complexes lining the plaza. Gladio followed, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and tried to keep up a happy front.

”So, uh, the bus line is just around the corner, like I said,” Prompto stuttered. ”I can show you the way–”

”I think I'll walk,” Gladio cut in. Belatedly, he realized how rude he'd sounded, and hurried to continue: ”Thanks, though.”

”Yeah.”

The last word left Prompto's mouth in a dejected puff of air, and Gladio instantly felt bad for it. They stood near what Gladio assumed was the door to Prompto's building, silent and hesitating, neither willing to leave the other – or so it felt to Gladio, who wanted nothing more but to spend the rest of his day with his mate. He opened his mouth to speak, to abate the sudden hurt he thought his curt words had caused, but Prompto beat him to it.

”D'you wanna come upstairs?”

Gladio froze.

The words sounded innocent on their own, but the look on Prompto's face – the half-lidded eyes not quite meeting his, the way he licked at his lips – and the subtle slouch of his body told a whole another tale. There was nothing innocuous about the question, only an offer Gladio had never thought he'd hear, not today, possibly not ever; it was a proposition.

Something cold and ugly filled Gladio's heart to the brim. He stared down at Prompto, who just shrugged his shoulders, still looking away, not a hint of embarrassment anywhere to be seen. He opened his mouth to speak but Gladio beat him to it.

”I'll walk you to your door,” he spoke, voice curt and gruff; for a split second, Prompto appeared startled.

”You don't have–”

”I'll walk you to your door,” Gladio repeated. He tilted his head towards the door. ”Lead the way, Prom.”

At first, Prompto stalled as if unsure or hesitating, but then he sighed and turned around to walk towards the building. They wiped their feet at the door, thick clumps of snow brushed away by hard plastic bristles, and stepped inside where Gladio followed Prompto up a circling staircase and onto the second floor. He kept his hands in his pockets while Prompto dug for his key and used it to open the door, then moved closer when Prompto entered the apartment.

At the threshold, Gladio stopped. ”Give Noctis a call,” he said, staring down at Prompto's empty eyes and downturned lips. ”Or Cor, or your therapist, or anyone. Just – call someone.”

Prompto swallowed visibly before answering. ”You could just come in,” he still tried to suggest, ”we don't have to–”

”No,” Gladio cut in. He could taste ash on his tongue. ”Call someone.”

”Oh.”

A moment of silence passed, during which they both simply stood there, Gladio silently mourning the elated joy of mere minutes earlier, Prompto thinking gods-knew-what. The old fear Gladio had grown to associate with just thinking about Prompto had returned to him in its full, now tinted with something ugly and bitter, but he was trying his best to swallow it, to not show Prompto how he truly felt. He wasn't hurt or upset, not even disgusted, that Prompto would proposition him, but after the morning they had shared, the drop to their normalcy was enough to shatter his hopes and leave him shrouded in negativity.

A door opened somewhere on the first floor, the creak of it audible in the tense silence. Gladio heard it but paid it little attention, noticed the alpha scent drifting into his nostrils but ignored it, not thinking it important until he saw the sudden change in Prompto's expression, how the cracked mask was replaced with fury and frustration.

”Everything's fine, Aurus!” Prompto bellowed, looking over Gladio's shoulder and in the general direction the sound had come from. ”Just fuck off already!”

Gladio was too shocked and confused to have much of a reaction to the sudden shouting at all. There was no reply from downstairs, but Prompto looked more irate than scared, and Gladio forced the worried, possessive urges in himself to quiet before he could do something he'd regret. A moment of silence passed, during which Prompto sucked in his lips, an irate expression fuming on his face, and even after the worst of the bite left his eyes, a layer of frustration still remained.

”Yeah, so,” Prompto muttered, clearing his throat as he glanced around the hallway, his gaze never rising past Gladio's shoulders. ”If you don't want to–”

”I can't,” Gladio cut in, a hand flying up to smooth his beanie, ”Prompto, I – you've got to know that'd be the worst idea ever.”

Still frowning, Prompto tilted his head sideways, a casual shrug that didn't quite spread to his shoulders, and rocked up on his heels. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down, blinking, his face hidden from Gladio's view but the implications clear as the day; a wave of sadness washed over Gladio, the need to comfort his upset mate, but he knew that stepping across the threshold would equal to stepping across a line far less concrete yet far more necessary, and so, clenching his hands into fists tight enough to shake, he drew in a deep breath that filled his chest to the brim.

”I'm going to leave now,” he spoke, releasing the air slowly. ”But before I go, I need to know if you're gonna be okay.”

Prompto glanced up at the ceiling, blinking away tears while gnawing on his lower lip. ”Yeah,” he eventually ground out, ”yeah, I'm – I'm gonna be okay. Just. Probably shouldn't have said that to you, hah.”

Gladio couldn't swallow the tired chuckle rising from his throat. ”It's what it is,” he murmured, shaking his head. ”Just – call someone, okay? Talk it out. I – I want to stay here with you, please don't think I don't–”

”Yeah.” A small, honest smile spread on Prompto's face even as he reached up to wipe the tears from his face. ”Yeah.”

Awkward silence followed. Despite Prompto's claims and reassurances, Gladio still worried over him, felt too anxious to leave him, yet too embarrassed to just stand there. He shuffled on his feet, hands stuffed into his pockets, and idly wondered about the strange alpha scent lingering in the hallway – that Aurus person, it had to be, and once again Gladio had to remind himself that if Prompto didn't appear threatened over the alpha, then there was nothing wrong with the situation.

In the end, it was Prompto who spoke up next, a shy smile lingering on his lips. ”I – I had a lot of fun today,” he murmured, glancing up at Gladio's eyes. ”It was, it was really nice seeing you. Talking with you. Y'know.”

Despite everything, Gladio felt a wide smile tugging at his face. ”Yeah, it was,” he agreed easily. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the memories of the few hours they'd spent trecking across the city and sitting in the quaint little café, but soon enough reality dawned on him once more. Gladio sighed and rubbed at his face. ”I really should get going though.”

Prompto nodded. ”Yeah.” He unfolded his arms and reached for the door, a small, sad smile splayed on his lips. Gladio wanted to wipe it away, to brush at it with his thumb until only the usual sunny grin remained, but restrained himself. ”Thanks for – thanks for everything.”

”Yeah. Take care, Prom.”

”You too.”

With one last smile, Gladio turned around and headed for the stairs, pausing at the top to wave at Prompto, who returned the motion before pulling the door shut slowly, yet a loud clacking sound echoed in the stairwell all the same. For a very brief moment, Gladio stared at the door, every cell of his being screaming at him to go after Prompto, but then the sound of an another door closing brought him out of his reverie. Shaking his head, Gladio descended the stairs and left.


	7. Chapter 6

In Insomnia, spring was nearing its peak; the last remnants of the winter's snow were all gone, and here and there, grass was starting to turn green again. The same couldn't be said of Tenebrae, if Prompto's letters were to be believed, and Gladio – who had, once or twice, been to Fenestala City around springtime – had no reason to doubt his word. Nor did he have the time or the energy, anyway, seeing as all his attention was stolen by a lone name repeating throughout their now bi-monthly letters.

Aurus had a pet dog, now. Aurus had helped one of the grannies paint her living room. Aurus knew a guy who worked at one of the local museums and arranged Prompto a private viewing of some paintings not usually accessible by visitors. Aurus this, Aurus that. Previously, any namedrops in Prompto's letters had consisted of mentions of Noctis or Ignis, or the handful of classmates he hung out with, but lately it was all Aurus, and it was driving Gladio nuts.

He had no right to be so jealous or possessive. Not when he and Prompto were neither dating nor engaged; not when Gladio himself was far from celibate. He'd had his fair share of flings over the past few years, quickies in the shadowy corners of pubs he shouldn't have been visiting in the first place, and long nights of hot fucking when the occasion struck. He would've preferred to wine and dine at least some of his partners, to shower them with all the love and attention he had to share, but – it had been wrong, when he'd tried, and so he'd stopped. Gladio _knew_ , of course, that he wasn't doing anything wrong by going out with others, yet the fact that he had an 'other' in the first space meant he had something else, too; he and Prompto were not in a relationship of any kind, yet the possibility was there, and that was all Gladio's heart needed. A chance, a dream, an image of the future he may or may not end up living.

He craved the contact, both physical and emotional, and so – week after week, month after month, when the mood hit and the thirst grew too strong – Gladio walked into a bar to pick up someone interested in the little he was able to offer. The omegas he avoided as much as possible, their distinct scents too much for him to bear; but even amongst the betas and alphas, individuals existed whose scents were too sugary, too cloying, so close to the thick caramel he dreamed of that he had, more than once, found himself walking home alone in a desperate attempt at crushing the hollowness in his chest. The nameless, faceless people he fucked seemed to understand his reluctance with shrugging shoulders and rolling eyes, but Gladio – Gladio couldn't.

He felt like he was cheating on Prompto, and when Prompto – finally, apparently – admitted to doing the exact same thing Gladio did, he felt like he'd been cheated on, too. That Prompto was fucking his way through Fenestala City was no business of Gladio's, yet it hurt, partly because Gladio wanted all of his mate for himself, but partly because it was clear as day that the sex was just another way for Prompto to hurt himself. It was something Gladio had understood when he'd stood outside Prompto's apartment complex mere months earlier, when the question had slipped through his ears and into his brain; that by asking for closeness, Prompto had asked to be hurt. But the true extent of it had not dawned on Gladio until weeks, if not months later, when the letter with the hesitant admission had arrived with his mail.

Still – when the names in the letters were incrasingly replaced by Aurus-this-Aurus-that, Gladio found himself fuming, all the hurt suddenly too much to bear. When he marched into Noctis' quarters, nearly slamming the door open on his way in, he _knew_ it was not right of him, _knew_ that he was acting on impulse and declining self-control, yet he couldn't stop himself. Not anymore.

”Who the _fuck_ is Aurus?”

Noctis had startled the second Gladio threw the door open, but after the growled question, an expression of irked indifference took over the sudden alarm. Ignoring Gladio, he returned to the binder propped up against his knees – the chaise lounge his favorite working station – and scribbled something on the page.

”Why?” he asked after a pause. He didn't look up from his papers, not when he spoke nor when Gladio slumped down in a nearby armchair.

”Because,” Gladio ground out. The little pause he needed to find his words was enough to take the edge off his frustration and he sighed, bending forward until his head rested against his hands. ”I don't know.”

Noctis hummed. Glancing up, Gladio saw him still working on whatever it was that he had before him. ”I'm guessing you know he's one of Prompto's neighbors, then,” Noctis answered after a moment. He looked up with a small, mischievous grin and continued: ”Unless there's a new Aurus in town that I know nothing about, that is.”

Had Gladio had it in him to laugh, he probably would've. Instead, he sighed forlornly, rubbed at his eyes and the deep ache building up behind them, tried to make sense of the tangled knot of emotions tightening around his heart and lungs.

”Been hearing a lot about him, 's all.”

”Hm.” The sound of a page turning and the scritch of a pen scraping across paper. ”He's been a good friend to Prom.”

Something very, very ugly and unforgiving surged up Gladio's chest cavity. ”So it sounds,” he agreed, the words like poison on his tongue; but when Noctis remained silent even as seconds long as minutes ticked by, it was Gladio who was forced to continue. ”Sounds like he might be a little more than that.”

Gladio hated how insecure he felt. His face burned hot when he sat up and leaned against the backrest, unable and unwilling to look at Noctis who, upon hearing Gladio's words, had finally turned to face him rather than the papers. He looked almost incredulous, Gladio thought, and soon enough startled laughter filled the otherwise quiet room; Gladio, blinking back tears he did not want to be shedding, kept his gaze on the tall bookshelves lining the wall across the room.

”They're friends, Gladio,” Noctis exhaled once the laughter had died out. From the corner of his eye, Gladio could see him close the binder and set it aside before crossing his legs under his body. ”Prompto's allowed to have those.”

”I know that,” Gladio hissed in a hurry, eyes snapping to Noctis. ”Hell, he's allowed to fuck around all he wants–”

As abruptly as he'd started, Gladio cut himself off, suddenly remembering that just because he knew something about Prompto didn't mean that Noctis knew it as well. However, though something startled and shocked passed right by Noctis' expression, it soon relented, telling Gladio everything he needed to know – Noctis had been aware of Prompto's sleeping around. A part of him – the one that was emotional and unreasonable and so out of control – felt disappointed, almost betrayed, but just this one, logic won out.

Noctis was a good friend to Prompto, and Gladio could appreciate that.

”It's you he wants,” Noctis sighed after a while. He ran a hand through the messy tangle of his hair and looked away, shaking his head. ”You gotta know that, right?”

In a very distant, very disbelieving way, Gladio knew – kind of, at least. He and Prompto were true mates, and though that didn't have to imply a relationship of any kind, it was nevertheless more than nothing, and to have the possibility of an actual relationship dangling right in front of his face just served to bring the ugly whispers to the back of his head. His entire being, body and mind, screamed for Prompto, and somehow – through the barely existing bond between them, the instincts pulling them together – Gladio hadn't lost his faith in Prompto feeling the same. But in a world where Prompto was still trying to outgrow his childhood of hurt and abuse, that faith meant precious little.

”Yeah, well.” Gladio shrugged. His eyes still continued to sting. ”Doesn't have to mean shit.”

A long silence ensued. When Noctis finally spoke up, his voice was tentative, almost nervous. ”He wants you,” he repeated, his entire body tilting forward. ”That's – that's not _nothing_ , Gladio.”

It wasn't _nothing_ , but it way just as well have been. Gladio craved intimacy of any kind, yet couldn't go out in search of it without feeling like he was cheating on Prompto; he wanted to try out and experience new things while he still was young enough to do so, but didn't have the opportunity to. He wanted the future all true mates were generally imagined to have, full of love and closeness, and had grown so used to the idea of requiring a heir that having children now felt like a dream to fight for rather than the awkward end-game he had no choice but accept. He wanted to go to sleep with Prompto in his arms and to wake up to a warm bed, wanted to take someone out on a romantic date without any negative feelings involved, wanted this and that and so many other things – but couldn't, not in this stand-still bound to last for another five years more.

”How do you think he's going?” Gladio asked, eventually, licking at his drying lips while casting a sidelong glance at Noctis. ”Honestly.”

Noctis took his time answering, and Gladio found no comfort in the way his gaze flickered towards the ceiling while he shifted on the lounge. ”I just don't know,” Noctis sighed after a moment of hesitation, sweeping a hand through his messy hair. ”Like – I know he's doing better with some things. His new therapist sounds pretty good and he's been working on, like, his anxiety and shit, so that's – that's working out better for him. But he's... well, you _know_ what he's doing in the meanwhile, so.”

He finished with a half-hearted shrug, refusing to meet Gladio's eyes. Something tired and weary washed over Gladio as he thought of Prompto, alone in Tenebrae, supposedly living his dream and actually working on his health, and suddenly everything felt just that much more impossible.

”He's just filling the void with some other kind of hurt, isn't he,” he murmured – not quite a question, and so Noctis didn't deign him with an answer. There was no need to, when the thin lips and scrunched-up eyebrows already spoke volumes.

* * *

Later that same night, the pressure of it all grew too much for Gladio to bear and so he slipped out of the Amicitia Manor, walking his way to the nearest subway station instead of calling a taxi. Though summer was just around the corner already, the night air was still cool enough to fog his breath while he walked, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat to stave away the stealthily creeping chill. Gladio didn't think when he stood at a crossing, waiting for the lights to flash green, or when he stepped into the subway car, or when he walked through the crummy streets of a district he probably shouldn't have been approaching in the first place – but there was an anonymity to be found in these sorts of bars that no amount of money would have offered him in the places he was expected to have frequented, and it was that faceless lack of existence Gladio needed.

He couldn't be himself. Not tonight.

The bar, when he finally walked in, was on the comfortable side of crowded; the room filled with enough people to hide the shadowy corners, to offer a chance to get lost in the masses without the threat of being swallowed whole or the risk of suffocating on an over-crowded dance floor. At the door, Gladio stilled for a moment, allowed his gaze to pan across the room while he rubbed life into his chilly fingers, and then, trying to force on a grin that did not come to him easy or natural, walked over to the bar.

A few minutes later, he stood a little to the side, a bottle of beer in his hands; more a habit, this time, than something actually desired. Taking a sip, Gladio leaned against the wall behind his back and gazed onto the dance floor, where people were writhing and bouncing to the fast beat of the song thrumming through the air. Women in short dresses, men in tight pants or unbuttoned shirts; there was much to see and to appreciate, but Gladio couldn't bring himself into the right mood.

The song changed into something slightly slower, more intimate, and the crowds shifted slightly as bodies left the floor while others entered, some flocking to new faces, others remaining with their partners or groups of friends. The new music was more intimate, somehow, a dull throb that resonated through the very cells of Gladio's being, and despite his sullen mood, he found himself tapping his foot along to the rhythm. No-one had caught his eyes, yet, but as the song brought the dancers closer to each other, bodies pressing together while hands roamed across expanses of skin and skimpy clothing, Gladio thought that maybe there was a chance for him to find whatever it was he was missing. Not Prompto, never him, but something – someone – good enough to fill the hollow void in his chest, to calm the urgent buzz of electricity crackling on his skin and screaming for physical contact he couldn't find anywhere else.

As the song changed once, twice more, the tangled mess of bodies on the dance floor began to make sense to Gladio, who saw the couples and the groups of friends, but also the singles switching their partners every song or two. Sipping at his beer, he eyed the lone dancers, wondering if any of them might be up for quick fuck in the back; he didn't think he'd be able to leave the building with anyone, never mind going home with someone, but something fast and base fit his sour mood just fine. Soon enough, a particular woman – wearing a long-sleeved dress glittering blood-red under the strobe lights, her hair loose curls on her shoulders – caught his attention and Gladio found himself focusing on her. The shadows and the flashing lights made it difficult to see her face, and he couldn't pick out her scent out of the crowded mess around her, but at some point, she looked his way and, when Gladio grinned and tipped his head over the rim of his beer, she appeared to return to greeting just fine.

Chugging the remnants of his drink, Gladio stepped away from the wall. He dropped the empty bottle on the bar before sauntering over to the dance floor, eyes flicking across the crowds in search of the earlier woman; he found her a moment later, though getting through the mass of dancing people was not the easiest feat. The heat of the bodies around him brought a layer of warming sweat to his forehead, and the way the floor seemed to tremble under his feet had him grinning despite everything. When he reached her, the woman was alone, dancing to herself – but when he brushed his fingers across her back, both announcing his presence and asking for permission, she looked over her shoulder and grinned, sharp and blood-hungry.

Gladio cursed.

”Hey there, Big Boy,” Crowe leered; she nearly had to to yell to be heard over the music and the loud thump of shoes hitting the floor around them. She turned around and pressed closer, until barely a breath's width existed between them. ”What're _you_ doing around these parts?”

Just like that, the spike of increasing mood Gladio had experienced mere seconds before vanished as if it had never existed. Sighing, he closed his eyes and dropped a hand on Crowe's shoulder, pushing her back a fraction – a move she complied with, but not without a gleeful widening of her smirk.

”New hair?” Gladio asked, trying to make his voice heard over the loud cacophony of sounds assaulting them from every direction. ”I didn't even recognize you!”

Crowe flipped some of the curls over her shoulder. ”Or maybe you just haven't seen me outside of work!” she shouted. ”Wanna dance?”

Grimacing, Gladio pulled back and shook his head. The mood had slipped him; whether or not he could have dealt with a rejection, he couldn't say, but running into a casual friend with the intentions of seducing said person had already left him feeling like he was trying to commit adultery. He knew – logically, reasonably, emotionally – that he and Prompto were nothing and so there was nothing to insult or offend, yet it was a thought he still hadn't learned to leave behind.

”Nah, you have your fun,” Gladio yelled. The grin on his face felt feeble at best and as the strobe lights passed over the contours of Crowe's expression, he knew she'd spotted his faltering. ”I'll just back off, yeah?”

He barely had the time to entertain the thought of simply going home to sulk before he felt an elbow slam into the side of his ribs. Grunting, Gladio pushed Crowe's hand away in favor of rubbing at the spot, the sting of the soft blow already gone, but irritation rising steadily in its place. Crowe shouted something, but a sudden burst of cheers from the crowds around them swallowed the words and Gladio could only shake his head at the sight of her mouth opening soundlessly.

”What?”

”Buy me a drink!”

” _What_?”

”Buy me a drink!”

Groaning, Gladio swept a hand through his hair. He held onto his breath for a precious few seconds, annoyed and frustrated and overwhelmed by the gleeful, knowing glint in Crowe's dark eyes. ”I'm not in the _mood_ , Crowe,” he tried to explain, his weary voice almost too thin under the thump of the bass, but she simply grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off the dance floor and in the direction of the bar.

All of sudden, he felt like crying.

During the little stall in time when they stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to take their orders, Gladio somehow managed to supress the traitorous tears yearning to spill free. All pretense of leisure and enjoyment gone, he leaned against the bar and stared at the crowds still dancing on the floor, back to eyeing the singles and wondering if he should just try again, if he should return to the floor to grab the first person to show a fraction of interest in him, but – he didn't.

Crowe wouldn't mind dancing with him, Gladio mused sullenly while following her towards the back and the slightly more quiet area full of tables and shadowy booths. It certainly wouldn't be wrong of him to dance with a friend; he'd even taken Ignis clubbing once or twice, after the long-awaited eighteenth birthday and the subsequent night of drinking too much and eating too little. If dancing with Ignis was fine, then dancing with Crowe – who, despite not being anywhere near as close to him as Ignis was, was still a friend – should've been fine as well. In the end, however, nothing was easy in Gladio's world, where every move and decision was made on the grounds of a future he might not even get to live, and so he, once more, stopped even trying.

The booth they slid into could hardly be called a quiet place, not with the music still pounding through the air and humming in the wooden structures around them, but Gladio could feel the drop in desibels like a deafening whoosh in his ears. He didn't know what it was that Crowe had ordered for him, only that it had come from a bottle not unlike the contents of the liquour cabinet back home, but hers was bright pink and decorated with a glittering rim of sugar that stuck to her lipstick and only served to highlight her smirk.

Gladio, only barely resisting the urge to down his drink at once, sipped at the dark liquid while refusing to meet Crowe's gaze. Though he'd succeeded at keeping his tears at bay, something truly uncomfortable and bothersome had still settled in the pit of his chest cavity, a weight he couldn't shake no matter how he tried. His throat felt swollen to the point of closing up on him, and though the booze went down easy enough, getting air to flow through the same point was a struggle he was only barely winning.

”So,” Crowe drawled after a moment. Gladio ground his teeth together and tried to brace himself for the conversation he could sense coming. ”Wanna tell me what's up, Big Boy?”

Gladio did not want to tell her, nor did he think he could – everything was still a carefully wrapped secret, one that was far from being entirely his own – but he was also pretty damn sure that Crowe wouldn't just let him drop it, now that she'd gotten a whiff of something going on. Still looking away, Gladio hooked a lip over the rim of his glass and drank a slow, lingering gulp.

”Yeah, you know what, I'd rather not,” he ground out when the worst burn had dissipated. A beat of indecision, then: ”Sorry for fucking up your night, dude.”

Crowe snorted against her own glass but said nothing. Gladio still refused to so much as glance at her, and instead gazed at the sliver of the dance floor he could still glimpse behind a corner and the thick acrylic window blocking out the worst of the sounds. He felt bad – over Prompto, over the night and the unfilled void in his chest, over ruining Crowe's night out – which in turn only served to make him feel more annoyed and frustrated with each passing minute. If the situation had presented itself, he probably would've found himself brawling with someone just for the slightest possible chance to get the hurt and the ache off his chest.

”It's always guys like you,” Crowe sighed after a long pause during which no words were spoken. Gladio clenched his teeth and felt his jaws bulge under the strain. ”Big, dumb, alpha boys who think it's somehow weak of them to show off they're actually human under all those pheromones.”

”Crowe.” Her name was a growl on Gladio's tongue, a warning as his gaze finally flashed over to meet her unflincing one. ”Drop it.”

Rolling her eyes, Crowe sat back against her seat. ”Yeah, _just_ like that,” she mumbled, throwing her head back to take a long gulp of her drink. She took a moment to swallow, during which Gladio looked away, evaluating his escape plans and the possibility of entering an actual argument with her, of taking her upfrontness as a chance to wear off some of the rage building inside of him.

”I told you to fucking _drop it_ ,” he hissed, fingers clenching around the cool surface of the glass in his hold. ” _Seriously_ , Crowe.”

Another pause, another mouthful of the irritatingly pink drink. The sound of a glass clinking against the table had Gladio glancing over instinctively, and when he did, he saw that Crowe's expression had softened to something almost kind, though the weary, frustrated edge was just as visible in the thin set of her lips.

”I'm pretty good at listening,” she said, pointing a thumb in Gladio's direction. ”Comes with the territory of making friends with dipshits like you or fucking Nyx.”

Gladio clucked his tongue. ”Yeah, well, it's not something I can just talk about–”

”If it's the prince or some shit like that, then fine, whatever,” Crowe cut in, ”but if it's not actually classified or anything, then I'd like to point out that other than my spectacular skills at listening to angry boys vent their rage, I'm also extremely talented at keeping my mouth shut where it counts. So.”

A long, drawn-out groan spilling from his lips, Gladio slumped against the worn leather of his seat and let his head thud against the top of the backrest. For a while, he continued to stare at the dusty, shadowy ceiling above them, feeling his stretched-taut chest struggle to expand properly.

”It's my mate.”

He still wouldn't look at Crowe, but simply admitting to his troubles had already shifted something inside of him. Slowly, he brought his head up and rolled his shoulders to shake off the sudden stiffness, then reached for his glass and downed the couple mouthfuls of booze still sloshing at the bottom of it.

”Didn't know you had one,” Crowe commented while Gladio was still glued to his drink. He finished it off, put the glass down, and wiped a hand across his mouth before releasing a stuttery laugh.

”Yeah, well,” he snorted, ”can't exactly go out in the open with it.”

Crowe shrugged and followed Gladio's example in finishing off her coctail. ”Shit be like that sometimes,” she said. ”I'm gonna go get us another round of drinks, on you, and when I get back, you'll tell me whatever you wanna get off your heart, and then you'll buy me another drink and a cab to take me home. Sounds good?”

Gladio drew in a deep breath and held onto it while pinching the inner corners of his eyes. ”Yeah,” he ground out, ”that's fine. Shit, whatever. Do whatever you want.”

Crowe laughed as she slid out of the booth. ”Remember to thank your lucky stars tonight, 'cause as tempting as that is... I won't be doing whatever I want, buddy. Now, sit still and wait for me, 'kay?”

She left with a patronizing pat on his knee and Gladio groaned as he buried his face in his hands, already both regretting the entire thing yet not quite willing to stand up and walk away. Disappearing into the night was a possibility, now, with Crowe gone back to the bar, but somehow Gladio simply couldn't bring himself to move away from his slouch in the narrow gap between the table and the seat. Though he didn't actually have any shortage of people to talk to about Prompto, and though there was little talking could do to actually fix anything – though he already knew all the ins and outs of his situation – Gladio still felt the desperate need to simply speak his mind.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the hollowness and the rage, but as soon as Crowe had returned, Gladio did exactly that.

”They had a pretty shitty childhood,” he began before she had fully sat down. ”Like really fucking shitty. Lots of abuse, very little anything good. So they can't – they can't really trust. They want to get better with the trauma and all that shit before they're willing to enter a relationship, which is still fair–”

”Uh-huh.”

”–like so, so fucking fair, but there's no guarantee they'll ever be healthy enough for that, so I'm just. Just.” Gladio stopped mid-rant as his voice began to rasp again a sudden flood of snot sliding down his throat, and he wiped at his eyes furiously, hating himself for the hitch in his breath. ”I want him but I don't know if that'll ever be possible.”

It dawned on him at the last possible moment that he'd slipped up with the pronouns, but if Crowe noticed – or if she could guess who it was he was talking about, if she had ever even met or seen Prompto while shadowing Noctis or working at the Citadel – she didn't show it.

”Sucks to be you,” she said, shrugging, and raised her glass to her lips. Gladio expected to feel anger over the words, but instead he was taken over by a sudden burst of laughter even as tears rolled down his cheeks.

”Yeah, no fucking kidding,” he cackled, then began crying in earnest. ”I-I just don't want to be-hee alone anymo-ore!”

If Crowe made any sounds, they were lost under the rising pitch of his sobs, but Gladio felt something hard tap against his shin, and when he looked at her through the blur of tears stinging at his eyes, he saw the faintest hint of a smile on her face, but also her downturned eyes almost hidden by her bangs.

”You really don't, do you,” she sighed, tapping the bottom of her glass against the table while Gladio worked to clear his throat. ”Shit, buddy, that's rough. Wanna hug? For the meager price of one more drink, I'll let you cry on my shoulder.”

Gladio laughed through his tears and waved a hand at her, making grabby motions in the air until she grinned and got up from her seat.

* * *

The next morning, Gladio woke up both late and more than a little hungover, and as he squinted against the bright glare of the rising sun, he felt little else but a weary sense of shame. Stomach rolling and head ringing with pain, he lay in bed until the pressure on his bladder grew too much to bear. He could barely remember getting home, Gladio realized as he crawled out of the bed and stumbled into the ensuite; at some point, he had been at the bar, sobbing into Crowe's shoulder and then downing shot after shot, and then he'd woken up in his own bed feeling those very same shots in his very cells.

Hot water washed the worst of his aches away, and as Gladio cupped his palms against the damp, dull skin of his face, he began to feel invigorated. Not okay, not perfectly fine, but the tenseness in his shoulders relented and his stomach settled down, the last remants of sleep leaving him along the old sweat floating down the drain. Awake for good, Gladio rinsed off the rest of the bodywash and turned off the water, but as soon as his feet hit the fluffy carpet behind the shower wall, he stopped.

He hated this.

Whatever little pleasure or comfort the shower had given him was taken away in an instant. The never-ending cycle of doubt and insecurity was one Gladio was sure he'd never escape, not when it spun around Prompto's wavering health and the promise of things that might not even come to pass, and soon enough, the old, weary anger began to seep into his veins once more. Gritting his teeth, Gladio dried off and got dressed in his running gear, only sparing a moment to glance through his phone to make sure no-one had sprung any surprise duties on him. If something truly urgent had happened, someone would have been by to wake him up – his father or Jared, or even a Crownsguard sent to retrieve him – but as sour as his mood had turned, Gladio couldn't – wouldn't – allow himself to shrink any more of his duties.

The kitchen was empty when Gladio walked in, but as soon as he'd peeled a banana and moved to the cabinets in search of a protein bar, he heard the sounds of someone approaching. Holding back a sigh, Gladio glanced over his shoulder. A grimace split his face when he saw Clarus at the door, dressed too casual for work but too neatly for a day in, arms crossed over his chest in a way that somehow managed to convey both a sense of disapproval and compassion.

”Late night, huh,” Clarus commented, voice not betraying anything. Gladio grunted and turned back to the cabinets and the cardboard packs full of protein bars, trying to find his favorite flavor but doubting there'd be any left.

”Guess so.” Gladio took a bite of his banana and gave the fruit a brief glance in an attempt to figure out how long it'd take him to finish it – how long he had left before he could dash out of the door.

At first, Clarus said nothing, and Gladio didn't feel the need to interrupt the tense silence in the room. In the end, he grabbed a random protein bar from the shelves – either Iris had eaten the last of his favorites or he'd forgotten to add the brand to the shopping list, and he knew which of the two options was more likely – and finished off his banana with a massive bite that left his cheeks bulging as his jaws did their best to turn the soft fruit into a gooey mash.

When Gladio moved to the sink, Clarus sighed.

”I'm worried over you, son,” he said, finally stepping away from the door and further into the kitchen. While Gladio downed a glass of cold water, Clarus set to fiddling with the coffee machine, their backs turned to each other but a heavy, charged silence still hung around them.

Gladio tore through the foil wrapper. ”You shouldn't be,” he ground out, glaring daggers at the little crumbs of oats and nuts that fell out when he tugged the wrapper down to reveal the end of the protein bar. ”It's not like that's gonna fix shit.”

They hadn't really talked about what was going on with Prompto, or how Gladio truly felt about the matter, but he'd always assumed it obvious enough that Clarus would understand it all the same. Gladio wanted his mate, Prompto couldn't be with him, cue endless frustration and misery. Not too hard to figure out.

”Gladio–” Clarus began, only to shut up when Gladio turned around on his heels to march out of the room, rage bubbling deep in his chest. Going out and talking with Crowe hadn't helped him at all, in the end, and though the more logical part of his brain knew it wrong, he couldn't stop himself from blaming her for it. If she hadn't been there, he would've spotted someone else on the dance floor, would've fucked his way through the night and the restless energy and the anger and the _pain_ –

”Gladio!”

Gladio didn't pause to listen.

* * *

The world outside the manor was in the midst of one of the first true spring days of the year. The early lunchers weren't yet quite out on the streets, but everywhere Gladio went, he saw people smiling at the sun shining down on them, enjoying the gentle warmth while running away from the cooler shadows cast by tall buildings. The grass was green, the trees budding.

Gladio wanted misery.

The damp asphalt was hard under his feet, though, and the slap of his running shoes against it had his entire body reverberating along each, loud thud. He ran faster than wise, chasing after a soreness and an exhaustion he knew would leave him shaking and aching for several long hours, but no matter how hard he pushed his body, he couldn't leave his heart or his thoughts behind. While his lungs constricted and pleaded for air, while his legs burned and his toes ached, the void in his chest remained full of ember-like anger, ready to spark up at first gust of ruffling winds.

Gladio ran. He ran until his body threatened to quit on him, and then some more, always forcing himself to take one more step, one more pounce, one more breath – until, eventually, the narrow streets of an old, expensive neighborhood dotted with slowly changing traffic lights brought a series of halts to his pace. He caught the first red light, and at the next intersection, realized that running through a space designed for walkers would never work out – and at the next, made the decision to continue still.

Sprints were better than nothing, and he'd be out of the neighborhood soon enough; the treetops of a large park were already visible out in the distance. The moment of wait at every intersection brought Gladio's pulse down, cooled the sweat on his forehead and in his armpits, lessened the ache in his legs – and then he started anew, sprinting down the next stretch of street as fast as he could, feet almost flying on the neatly stacked sidewalk tiles.

Stopping and starting again was much more taxing than running continuously, and if Gladio's body had been on the verge of its limits before, that couldn't even be compared to how he felt right now. He ran and stopped, ran and stopped, for a total of seven intersection; then, in the middle of his eight sprint, he came to a halt so abrupt it nearly threw him off his feet.

Panting, Gladio stared down the sidewalk. On his left was a row of townhouses red as a sunrise, and to his right, a sparse line of young trees and the occasional car parked next to the road. Slowly, as if in a trance, Gladio turned over his right shoulder to face the shiny blue car he'd passed mere seconds before.

He hadn't even realized which part of the city he was in, and now that understanding dawned on him, Gladio felt his face heat up in a mixture of embarrassment and the usual load of self-loathing. It was his first time in this section of the neighborhood, as far as he knew, but the sight of the car – which he'd seen twice in his life but would have recognized anywhere even without the license plates – had been big enough a hint to glue him in to his location. The street signs were too far for him to be able to make out the letters on them, but he was looking at the right car sitting in the right neighborhood, and that was enough. That had to be enough.

Still panting for breath, Gladio swept a wrist across his sweaty forehead and turned to face the apartment next to the car. As far as he could see, there was nothing to signal the identity of the residents, but the parking spaces were rare and few in these areas, and the car's location was just too perfect to be incidental.

The swift beat of his heart had little to do with the previous exertion. Gladio stared at the stairs leading up to a covered doorway, the massive windows running along the entire wall, and asked himself if he really wanted to do this. Something rolled in the pit of his belly, little butterfly wings fluttering around nervously, and Gladio shifted his weight in a futile attempt at relieving some of the tension clinging to his worn body.

He could just turn around and walk away, but – as Gladio thought of Prompto the way he'd been when they'd last met in Fenestala City, he found he couldn't. At the café, Prompto had been brimming with cheer and infectuous energy, but then he'd cracked right before Gladio's eyes, had bled and hurt and asked for more pain to be added to the unbearable load already lodged on his shoulders. Gladio thought of Prompto bringing home a stranger after a stranger, doing what Gladio himself did but for the very opposite reason, to feel shame and to find another reason more to hate himself.

Slowly, swallowing around a rock lodged in his throat, Gladio made his way to the front door. As he rang the bell, he still continued to wonder if it was right of him to show up at Cor's house uninvited, unannounced, if it was right of him to talk to Cor behind Prompto's back, if it would even help him – or Prompto – in the first place to do so... Doubts filled his mind, but before he could turn around and flee, the door opened.

At first, an expression of open shock crossed Cor's face. Gladio swallowed, suddenly lacking the words to even greet the older man, but as he stood there licking his lips and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the surprise fell from Cor's face and was replaced with something almost understanding.

”Gladio,” he spoke, sighing deeply. He stood back and pulled the door wide open, tipping his chin back a fraction while gazing down at Gladio with kind eyes and a grieving smile. ”Come on in.”


	8. Chapter 7

”–and that, of course should've been enough to glue me in.”

”And did it?”

”Hell no.”

Prompto threw his head back in laughter that racked through his entire body until tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. The lip of the bar desk dug into his back almost painfully, but he couldn't bring himself to care; not when he had alcohol in his veins, a new friend by his side, and a perfect view of the room around them.

Wiping his eyes, Prompto shook his head and twisted to grin at Ulys. The omega was around his own age, an inch or two shorter but wide and muscular in the way that usually signaled either an interest or a career in fitness, but best of all, the guy was actually hilarious. Prompto had lost count of the time Ulys had made him laugh through the thirty or so minutes they'd been sitting at the bar, but his stomach hurt and his face ached from cackling too hard, and in his life – in the misery and fear and steadily climbing levels of self-loathing – that kind of a person was too good to pass.

”Wanna get a refill?” Ulys asked, jerking his hand towards Prompto's near-empty coctail glass. Prompto glanced down at it, almost surprised, but ultimately shook his head.

”Nah,” he answered, his grin disappearing from his face as he licked at his lips. ”Don't wanna get too drunk, you know.”

”Yeah?”

”Yeah.”

Their barstools were already pushed up close to each other to facilitate discussion in the loud environment, but somehow, Ulys managed to lean in another fraction closer. Prompto grinned and batted his eyelashes when he felt a hand sneak up his thigh, not quite indecent yet, and stuck his nose in the air.

Ulys was in heat. Prompto had, out of politeness and some remnants of old anxieties, pretended to ignore it at first, but as discussion had began to flow between them, he'd also began to shed any pretenses of not having noticed the sweet odor clouding the air. Nature had intended for the smell of an omega in heat to be at least somewhat intoxicating, but for Prompto, there were many other factors at play as well – including the heat dampeners he still ate dutifully every morning of every new day, week after week, month after month. He'd switched from suppressants to dampeners some months earlier, not yet ready to experience another true heat and the consequent vulnerability, but nevertheless needing some sort of a connection to the body he was still working on accepting.

The fact remained that Ulys smelled _enticing_ , and Prompto no longer had his suppressants to dull his reactions to the pheromones he smelled. Though something awfully protective made its existence known in the pit of Prompto's stomach when he scented the air, there was also something in the very image of bedding an omega in heat that he couldn't resist. It was as good as a chance to live out a fantasy through someone else, to test the boundaries of his own body without actually prodding at them. Prompto swallowed the saliva flooding his mouth and slid his left hand up Ulys' thickly muscled arm.

”Wanna get out of here?” he murmured, watching the other through half-lidded eyes.

”Uh-huh,” Ulys breathed, but despite the heat in his eyes and the accepting words, Prompto was surprised to see him glance at the doorway before sitting up straighter. ”Listen, I hope you don't mind but–”

He cut himself off without any further explanations and Prompto sat back on his stool, minute shakes of his head signaling his confusion. Before he could ask what was wrong, a figure slid through the crowds around them to stand behind Ulys; another gym rat, Prompto's mind picked up first, probably a little taller than Ulys and equally muscular, though his body was more narrow and lean.

An alpha, Prompto realized seconds later, mouth running dry in an instant. The man rested a hand on Ulys' thigh and the other on his shoulder before leaning in for a kiss, and Prompto felt his face grow cold in shock, in fear, as his mind supplied him with scenarios of possible outcomes; whoever the newcomer was, he and Ulys clearly knew each other intimately, yet mere seconds before, Ulys had been flirting with Prompto.

Maybe they were simply fuck buddies, Prompto tried to reason with himself, panic rising swift in his guts; but no matter how he tried to cling to logic, the irrational fears won out once again. In his mind's eye, he saw the alpha realizing what Ulys had been up to and growing mad over it, until all that existed was rage and violence and perhaps it wouldn't be just Prompto who got hurt over it or just Ulys, but the both of them–

”I thought you were gonna wait for me, babe,” the man murmured against Ulys' lips, glancing at Prompto with a soft smirk that did little to help Prompto's sudden flare of anxiety. ”Ah, looks like we spooked your little friend, too.”

There was nothing threatening in the alpha's demeanor as he pulled away from Ulys' face for good; he looked almost kind, seductive in the friendly way Prompto sometimes adored, sometimes shied away from. Ulys himself grinned sheepishly while reaching around the other man to wrap an arm around his waist.

”Yeah, sorry,” he laughed, ”I saw this cutie here and I had to get to him before anyone else could, yeah?”

Prompto, though his mind was still reeling, couldn't stop the blush from rising on his face.

”I think I'll forgive you,” the alpha grinned. ”You got a name, darling?”

”Uh–”

Prompto's confusion and indecision really must have shown, because Ulys' expression began to fell flat within moments. ”Prompto, shit, I thought J would get here earlier,” he tried to explain, waving a hand between all three of them. ”We, uh, usually do this together–”

Ulys cut himself off, and Prompto responded with a slow nod of his head. ”So you're, uh...” he murmured, not exactly at loss for words but simply unsure of what he was feeling. The alpha – J – was hot, there was no denying it, and ordinarily, Prompto would have been all over him; but this was no ordinary situation to him, and as he glanced between J and Ulys, he felt dread beginning to build up where arousal had coiled mere moments before.

”Interested?” J asked, waggling an eyebrow in tease. ”Sure thing, doll.”

”Mm-hm,” Ulys agreed. Grinning, he bit his lower lip before turning to Ulys. ”We were just talking about leaving, actually...”

”Oh?”

Two sets of eyes turned to Prompto, who in his nervous bewilderment could only nod. Ulys' hand still sat on his knee, their shoulders almost brushing, but what had previously been a comfortable situation now left him feeling like a caged animal; though J stood behind Ulys and just out of Prompto's reach, he was tall and large enough to be imposing.

It would have been so easy to reach out and grab J by the front of his chest, to stand up and claim his mouth in a kiss as filthy as other bar-goers had taught Prompto, but – even as he thought about it, Prompto found himself freezing. He could still smell Ulys and the sweetness of an omega in heat, but now it combined with J's alpha musk, and he could, by simply flaring his nostrils and sniffing the air around them, tell that the two were already a mated pair. All at once, Prompto felt both terror and the bitterness of jealousy so intense he nearly toppled out of his seat.

Ulys was in heat, and there was an alpha holding onto him, and Prompto couldn't – _couldn't_ – take it. He thought of Ulys getting lost in the throes of pleasure, in the influx of hormones and pheromones and easily playable desires, and nearly wept. Ulys would be so weak and vulnerable if he gave in to the heat, if someone worked him to the point of giving in, and Prompto knew he wouldn't be able to protect him from someone like J – but then again, he forced himself to acknowledge, J had shown no signs of aggression or threatening behavior, had done nothing to deserve Prompto's judgement, yet Prompto couldn't stop ruminating.

”Prompto?” Ulys asked, reaching forward, and Prompto jumped down from his stool in his haste to get away from the fingers reaching for his midriff.

”I need to go,” he croaked, choking on nothing, ”you – you two have your fun, bye–” and then, with such meager explanations spilling from his lips, he elbowed his way out of the bar.

If J wasn't the bad alpha from Prompto's nightmares, then he'd be the good alpha from his dreams, and though he sometimes could handle such attention being thrown at him, sometimes was not always and today was not one of those days.

If J was the good alpha, then he'd treat Ulys well, and Prompto – who still, after years of healing and years of therapy, could take hurt better than he took kindness – couldn't so much as bear the thought of witnessing it.

The silence of the sleeping city was deafening in his ears. Outside the bar, Prompto could still hear the faint thump of the music, and for a second, he thought he could almost imagine it the way the scene was always drawn in comics – colorful music notes hanging around him like the neon lights of the district, reflecting off of darkened windows and the occasional midnight-black puddle of water on the street. Moving away from the door, Prompto pressed a clammy palm against his mouth to muffle the hysteric giggles rising in his throat.

”What a fuck-up,” he murmured moments later, once the laughter died and a tired sense of regret took over. ”Astrals.”

Hugging his arms around himself, Prompto sighed and stepped further onto the sidewalk. There were people around, of course; a quick glance showed him a small group of women around a car parked nearby and a few more people simply walking down the road. For a moment, Prompto allowed his gaze to linger on a man jogging with the most massive dog he'd ever seen, and though the sight brought a small smile to his lips, it soon disappeared.

With a heavy sigh, Prompto let his arms fall against his sides. He turned around towards the familiar shape of a sharp-pointed castle silhouetted against the circular moon on the sky and began his way home, trying to ignore the way his heart seemed to be beating against an empty void.

Though there was still a definite chill in the air, the weather itself was decently nice; a small blessing to Prompto, who had loathed the slush-filled streets of a week or two prior. Now, he could still feel the cold asphalt through the soles of his sneakers, but most of the sidewalk was dry and no longer threatened his toes with the misery of sopping-wet shoes freezing him solid. As he walked on, Prompto spared a thought to Ulys, whom he had actually liked, and J, whom he probably would have liked had the night ended up on a different note, and wondered if the two were trying to pick up someone else, or if they had headed home already. He wished for the former; the idea that he may have ruined their night didn't settle well in his stomach.

The night was calm, the city nearly asleep, and the further Prompto walked, the calmer he felt. Slowly, the pulse in his veins died down to the point where he could no longer feel it, his heart settling into its lodge and his lungs filling with sweet, clear night air once more. Smiling to himself, he glanced backwards; the bar was still in his line of vision, only a few minute's walk down the road. The women and the car were all gone, but a group of men had taken their place; whether they were leaving or entering, Prompto couldn't say, but it didn't matter.

A moment later, he began to approach the first crossing. Instinctively, Prompto glanced over his shoulder to make sure the sidewalk was clear of bikers before stepping to the edge of the road to wait for the lights to change. As he did so, however, he couldn't help noticing that the previous group of men had moved; where they'd previously stood by the bar, they were now walking towards him. Prompto eyed them for a moment, just long enough to count their number – five – and to see that the worst drunk was being half-carried by two of his friends. Shrugging, Prompto turned back to the lights, but seeing or hearing no cars anywhere near him, he crossed the road at red.

He hoped Ulys and J weren't too upset with him. The road ahead him was empty of people, so Prompto stared up at the sky instead, at the haze of light pollution blocking out most of the stars. The moon had shifted a little and now floated to the side of the castle, thinly veiled under a wispy layer of clouds almost purple in color; for a very brief moment, Prompto thought about digging through his pockets for his phone so that he could take a shot of the sky, but soon decided against it.

Loud, rambunctious laughter startled Prompto out of his thoughts, and once again, he found himself turning over his shoulder even as his feet stumbled onwards. The men were closer to him, now, three of them walking with their hands thrown over each other's shoulders; and just like that, the panic was back to whacking its tiny little fists against the insides of Prompto's ribcage.

He knew it ridiculous and paranoid of him, but on the otherwise empty streets, the group of men felt more like a threat than a simple feature of people living their lives, and Prompto – heart in his throat, nausea in his belly – found himself sinking back into his fears. He crossed another couple roads more, most of them taking his feet straight ahead, but when he turned, the men turned as well, and in his panic, Prompto stuck his nose in the air to scent the group behind him. Three alphas, two betas, their scents nearly lost to the gritty city air – but to Prompto and his swiftly rising panic, that wasn't enough.

They weren't following him. Prompto knew as much. They were a group of friends on their way home or someplace else, and it just happened that their paths coincided; _he knew as much_. But with the darkness of the city around them and the alcohol in his veins, with the bad taste of a mishandled encounter still in Prompto's mouth and the thoughts of a happily bonded couple in his mind, knowing wasn't enough.

Prompto walked on, his feet picking up his pace, but the frequent crosswalks dotting the city section stopped him far too often. He had all the red lights; the men had all the greens. He was slow, and though he skipped the road at a red light whenever possible, there were still occasional cars around – taxis, mostly, and Prompto would've hailed one if the one he saw coming from his front hadn't already been taken – to root him still at the sidewalk.

Nearly in tears, Prompto walked around a corner and threw himself into a small side alley, where he crouched behind a large garbage can. The rough texture of the wall behind his back was only partially dulled by the coat open on his shoulders, but it grounded him to the present, and had he not been too scared to make a sound, Prompto would have laughed into the fingers he'd pressed over his mouth.

 _What the fuck am I doing_ , he thought, staring at the opposite wall while listening to the men approach. _What a fucking fuckwit loser...!_

Eventually the men reached the corner of the alleyway, and like Prompto had told himself, they moved past without pausing to search for him; at the crossing partially visible from his hiding spot, they even went and turned right where Prompto would have continued to walk straight. Hysteric laughter lodged in his throat, Prompto watched the men disappear into the night – into the direction of the nearby college dorms, now that he actually paused to think about it – and tried to find something to justify his behavior.

He couldn't.

Prompto let his arms drop down to his sides where they hovered just above the cold ground, all fear leaking out of him and leaving behind only an exhausted sort of emptiness. With dull eyes barely seeing the world around them, Prompto continued to stare at the wall across from him for another moment longer, and when he finally heaved himself back into a standing position, he found himself blinking back tears.

This wasn't the life he'd wanted.

He didn't know if he should laugh or cry, and so he did neither. Sniffling slightly, Prompto swept a thump across his eyes and made to leave the alleyway, only to be stopped by a quiet but high-pitched whine coming from the other end of it.

Confused and unsure of what he'd heard, Prompto stopped still and turned his head, trying to catch the sound again. At first, he only met silence, but just as he was about to shrug it off, the sound repeated, this time slightly louder; and now that Prompto was listening for it, he could identify it right on the spot.

Stomach dropping in distress, Prompto twisted around. After two or three steps, he restrained himself and slowed down, eyes examining the dark shadows cast by the tall buildings lining the narrow alleyway. There was little to be seen, but the sound kept on coming, more and more frequent until it no longer broke at all, and Prompto – desperate to find the source – took a hesitant step forward.

_There._

”Hi, baby,” Prompto cooed, slowly approaching the crying animal; as he crouched down a few feet away from it, it raised its head and growled, pointed ears falling flat against its skull. ”What's wrong, pup- _oh no_.”

The dog was white as snow, and though the shadows around were dark, there was nevertheless enough light for Prompto to see the deep gash in its left hind leg. There was a lot of blood smeared into the long fur, spreading from the leg all the way to the only partially visible belly, and Prompto felt his stomach continue to plummet down as he tried to make sense of the scene before him. The dog was awake but clearly in pain, and though it had called for him, it wouldn't let him approach.

”It's okay baby,” Prompto murmured. He offered the dog his right hand, slowly inching it towards as far as he could without moving from his crouch. The dog continued to growl, but soon it relaxed a little and began whining instead.

Prompto's heart shattered. He couldn't say how badly the dog was injured, but it was hurting and in need of help, drenched in blood and crying tears of pain; and Prompto, who knew firsthand all the pain the world carried in it, found himself falling back to old memories he'd done his best to forget.

For the third time that night, Prompto found himself starting to panic. He reached for his pants pocket and his phone, quickly pulling it out with his free hand while the other still rested before the dog. It took him three tries before moogle gave him the answer he wanted, and he cursed out loud over every failed search, feeling as if time was running out on him; the dog didn't sound any worse than before, but the blood glinted wetly under the distant glow of the streetlights and that wasn't good.

There was a 24-hour clinic nearby. Prompto stared at the information on his phone screen, then at the dog, then at the screen again, suddenly frozen in his indecision. The clinic was just around the corner, less than five minutes away by foot, and it seemed like such a miracle that Prompto couldn't quite believe that the Astrals were finally taking his side after so long – but then again, the dog was not him, and the dog was the one needing all the help it could get.

The feeling of something wet and rough lapping at his fingers startled Prompto out of his reverie. He jerked back before noticing that while he'd been caught trying to organize the fumbling thoughts spinning in his head, the dog had crept forward. It's tongue was bloody, and there was now blood on Prompto's fingers.

The dog licked at him again, and Prompto stared at his fingers, suddenly choking on thin air.

”I'll be right back,” he wheezed, already on his feet and ready to dash, ”I promise I'll be back, okay? I'll bring you help, baby, and it's all gonna be okay, yeah?”

The dog whined in response and Prompto scrambled off, phone in his coat pocket and feet sliding on pavement threatening to frost over where dampness still remained. The dog needed help and he knew where to get some; though the clinic's website had had a call button embedded, it never so much as crossed Prompto's mind that he could call them to come pick up the animal. All he could think of was how the poor little dog was hurt and alone, stuck in an alleyway in the middle of a sleeping city, bleeding sluggishly in the chilly night.

In the years to come, Prompto would never be able to explain the moments that followed. Somehow, he managed to run all the way to the clinic as if there was a fire licking at his heels, and then he was leading two staff members back to the dog, panicking and at the verge of breaking down. It was a miracle they even listened to him in the first place instead of simply assuming him a drunk man in the middle of a meltdown, but they did, and the next thing Prompto knew, he was seated on an orange plastic chair in the waiting room of the clinic while the vet worked on the dog.

His chest hurt. Part of him wanted to believe it was simply a consequence of running far and fast with no warm-up, no preparations, but the logical part – the anxious part, the crumbling part – knew it wasn't. Gasping, Prompto pressed his face into his hands and his elbows into his thighs.

He missed the look the staff member at the register gave him, and the way she fingered the phone, clearly hesitant; he also missed the door opening, but not the sight of several pairs of feet filling what little floor he could see through the gaps between his fingers.

”Excuse me,” a woman's voice spoke, ”my dog's GPS tracker – Prompto?”

Prompto had looked up as soon as the woman began speaking, but even when her eyes – pale blue on a narrow face, strands of blonde hair sticking out from underneath a woolen cap – locked on his, he couldn't say who she was. Not even when he heard his name called, or when the woman stepped towards him, a frown on her face and a hand reached out towards him in worry.

Then one of the people with her moved to stand between him and her the way Prompto had seen Glaives and Crownsguards move to stand between Noctis and so many others, and just like that, he knew.

* * *

Prompto had, for as long as he'd been aware of her existence, idolized Luna. At first, he'd watched her on TV screens, only a few years older than him yet so grown-up already, a real-life princess of a faraway country; and then she'd been the other best friend to his best friend, and some of the awe he'd felt had been replaced with giddiness as he realized they shared something.

Over the years, his feelings over Luna changed. He was forced to leave Noctis behind, and sometimes, when he saw glimpses of her in the news, he wondered if she and Noctis were still friends. He felt hurt and saw her press her healing hands on the shoulders of a man injured in a car crash or a woman ill with some disease or another, and wished she could do the same for him. He watched her grow a few years ahead of him, always poised, always perfect, never wavering, and he wanted to be like her.

As a little boy, he may have dreamed of meeting her, but that was a dream left to the child he'd once been. As a teenager, as an adult, she had returned to being the other best friend, and vaguely, occasionally, Prompto had seen the possibility of running into her via Noctis.

Never in a thousand years would he have thought they'd end up meeting like this: him sobbing into her lap in the back of a fancy, bomb-proof car, surrounded by bodyguards visibly judging him while he was too broken to feel the shame that would settle in hours later. The driver taking the scenic route to the hospital. Her mopping the tears from his face with a handkerchief so soft he thought it would dissipate on his face, and him holding onto her until the staff led him into a room, her disappearing and leaving behind shame and horror as Prompto sobbed his story to medical personnel unaware of his past.

He'd blamed it all on the mounting stress of a new semester starting to pick up in pace. He'd blamed it on the injured dog and the bar and the alcohol, barely mentioning the past trauma in fear of the staff thinking him too broken. He dropped Cor's name and watched the doctor's face wrinkle first in shock, then in doubt, until he made it clear enough he needed to call Cor, until Cor answered the phone, until Cor talked to the doctor – until Cor, once again, fixed things for him while Prompto felt himself deflate into exhausted nothingness.

* * *

The next evening, Prompto walked into his apartment. He closed the door and tried to depress the handle, inhaled and exhaled and inhaled once more while resting his back against the door. He felt – okay in the sense that he wasn't crumbling into dust any longer, but also exhausted, frustrated, more than a little angry at the world and himself both. Somehow, he managed to resist the theatrical urge to slump down and follow the door all the way to the floor; instead, he dropped his keys and phone atop the dresser by the door, toed off his shoes, and hung his coat on the row of hooks finally empty of wintergear.

Rubbing at his arms, Prompto made his way to the toilet, and afterwards, when he was scrubbing his hands clean at the sink, he refused to meet his own gaze in the toothpaste-speckled mirror. He felt dirty in his clothes, all them too old, too worn, too sweaty and stinky, but he couldn't really muster the energy to shower quite yet. He'd need to wash up before bed, but – not yet.

Back in the living area, Prompto cast a cursory glance around the room before marching up the the curtains hanging in front of the balcony. On the way there, he grabbed an apple from the bowl on the dining-writing-drawing table, and as he bit into the juicy fruit, he used his free hand to pull back the curtains. Though night was already beginning to fall, he could still make out the familiar skylines – the buildings and their sloping roofs surrounding the plaza, the apartment complexes and skyscrapers in the distance, and even the tiniest glimpse of one of the bridges leading into the castle.

Prompto stood at the balcony door until all that remained of the apple was the core and the sticky juices clinging to his fingers. He stared at the city for another beat longer before turning away to discard the apple core. As he rinsed his hands at the kitchen sink, he eyed the calendar, the to-do lists, the study plans he'd taped onto the cabinet doors, and wondered, for the first time in a very long time, if there truly was no limit to human idiocy.

He wasn't really _behind_ in his studies as such, but as Prompto eyed the textbooks and the stacks of loose paper littering the apartment, he knew he wasn't doing as well as he should have – could have – been doing. Feeling dull and exhausted, Prompto leaned against the kitchen cupboards until he could feel the lip digging into his bum, and crossed his arms in thought.

This was supposed to have been his dream. Coming to Tenebrae to attend the RoTAA was all he had dreamed of in his life, had been the sole reason he'd fought to survive so long, and here he was, letting it all go to waste. Across the room by his bed, Prompto's easel remained empty, and though his sketchbooks were full of fumbling strokes and tentative color schemes, he hadn't actually gotten started on what was supposed to become the semester's largest, most important piece of art. He had lecture notes waiting for him to clean them up, and textbooks he had skimmed but not yet studied; he had arts assignments to complete and his daily practice to return to.

Prompto sat down at the dining table and folded his palms under his chin. He'd need to call Cor sooner rather than later, and he'd received several messages from Noctis he'd also need to respond to. That he had known to ask Prompto if everything was okay told him that Luna had spoken to him already, and of all the things that had happened over the weekend, that was the shame Prompto couldn't yet bear; that Luna, Noctis' other best friend, had met him at his absolute worst was a first meeting so horrid he didn't want to ever see it repeated.

Drawing in a deep breath, Prompto ran his palms over his face and the greasy mess of his hair. Slowly, he turned to face his study plans one more; though he couldn't read the print from the distance, he could make out the different colors and the groups of tasks assigned to different days. A grim determination began to fill him, first a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach and then a tenseness engulfing his entire body head to toe.

Prompto thought of Gladio – still waiting, still lonely, still chasing the dream Prompto might not be able to offer him – but mostly he thought of himself, the kid he had once been. He'd been nine or ten the first time he'd visited a museum, as dead as a living boy could ever be – and something had happened there. A stroke of luck, a spark of magic, a careless blessing from an Astral done with his misery. The boy who exited the building was not the same boy who'd entered it, because one had been ready to die while the other had learned to fight.

It was that boy who had wanted to survive so that he could, one day, do what so many others had done before him. It was him who'd wanted to learn to draw, to paint, to picture the world as only he saw it, and it was him who'd somehow managed to keep his chin up through all the storms he'd weathered over the years. It was him who'd had a dream, and him who had lived to fulfill that dream.

It was not Gladio who'd been Prompto's reason to live, but Tenebrae and Fenestala City and the RoTAA. For so many years, art had been what fueled Prompto's will to live, to survive, to make it till the next day and the next one and then one day more – and now he was already throwing it all away. It was his second spring in Fenestala City, and instead of flourishing like a phoenix rising out of a mountain of ash, he was already spiraling down.

Not anymore, Prompto thought, shaking his head slightly. Not anymore. He couldn't fix himself for Gladio, but he could fix himself for his art, because his art was a part of himself in a way the bond wasn't. Gladio was important to him and he wanted to nurture that bond, to let it grow until they were the picture-perfect pair of true mates everyone dreamed of – but more than that, more than anything, Prompto wanted to see himself okay.

As long as Gladio was his reason, he'd never make it there. But, at the same time – he wasn't ready to let go of Gladio, not did he want to do so. The possibility of sharing the rest of his life with Gladio was a dream like no other, but Prompto knew he couldn't make it – Gladio – his sole reason for living. Breath threatening to catch in his throat, Prompto leaned back in his chair until he was staring at the dusty ceiling.

He'd need to learn to live for himself, without thinking of Gladio as the ultimate trophy at the end of the road.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay! I ran out of creative juice soon after the last update, and though I already had this chapter (and the next two as well) finished, I couldn't even bear to read through it. Took me a little bit of reworking my updating schedule, but things are all good now so I'm back to regular updates! Unfortunately I'll only be posting Malus Coronaria once every two weeks from now on, though if it's of any consolation, I'll be alternating it with another fic (ot4 soulmates, anyone?) :) I also have a third fic (finished since last fall, I just never got around to publishing it lol) coming out every Wednesday, so that's two updates every week, meaning lots of new things for y'all to read <3

Prompto grinned to himself while sliding the letter into the large mailbox standing in the corner of what had, by now, become his plaza. The metal lid snapped shut with a dull clank and Prompto stepped backwards, hands on his hips while his eyes roamed the sticker glued to the front of the mailbox; the pick-up times hadn't changed once in the two and a half years he'd lived in Fenestala City, but the habit had become one without him noticing and now it was too late to try and break out of it. Besides – he wanted to make sure the birthday congratulations reached Gladio on time.

A bright smile on his face, Prompto all but danced his way across the plaza. The spring was in full bloom around him, and wherever he looked, he saw nothing but sunshine and a blue sky that would've spread till the ends of Eos if not for the circle of mountain ranges corralling the city. The past two weeks hadn't been the best of times for him, full of cramming and pushing the limits of his body for the sake of finishing all his assignments, but now – the worst rush was over, and though he still had classes left, the summer holidays were swiftly approaching. For the first time in a while, he had time to simply be.

As the subway station and the large clock hung above the stairs entered his range of vision, Prompto picked up his pace. He made it into the correct car just in the nick of time, and as soon as the doors closed with a sequence of ear-splitting beeps, he released a sigh that started as relief but soon turned into weariness.

A year earlier, when the winter was still trying its best to cling to the city, Prompto had thought he'd never hear of Luna again; he'd hoped and prayed so. The utter humiliation of meeting someone while in the middle of a breakdown was a feeling Prompto would never forget, and kind as she had been to him, her gentle words and the fingers patting at his face might just as well have been daggers and claws ready to shred him apart.

He hadn't expected the letter.

Now, just over a year later, the memory of it still brought an uncomfortable squirm to the bottom of Prompto's stomach. Some two or three weeks after their run-in, when Prompto had just began to forget the worst of that particular weekend, he'd returned home after classes to find an ornate envelope in the stack of mail spread on the floor just inside his door. The invitation to tea, though cordial and friendly enough, had been an unexpected shock, and Prompto had spent more than his due time stressing over it before Noctis finally talked him into accepting it.

It hadn't been easy; at first, every time he saw Luna's face, he returned to the back of her car, and every time he saw the ever-present bodyguards following her, he remembered the way they'd tried to protect her from him. That had been the real kicker, though it had taken Prompto months of talking with his therapist to understand why. After all the pain he'd been through, the mere thought that he might inflict even a fraction of it on someone else was something he couldn't bear.

Noctis' insistence that Luna was the coolest, most awesome person ever – second only to Prompto himself, he'd eventually relented – was what had, ultimately, driven Prompto into trying to pursue some sort of a friendship with her. Awkward as it had been, things had slowly melted into something better, brighter, and aside from the occasional late-night panic mode rumination, he hadn't regretted his decision.

The subway reached his stop and Prompto followed a handful of others out onto the platform, where he had to squint his eyes against the bright rays of sun shining down on him. Swerving past a mother and her baby carriage, Prompto continued on his way until he reached the foot of the mountain range and a series of centuries-old stairs leading up to a man-made plateau just under one of the bridges that connected the castle to the mountains – ”the summer room,” as Luna had called it. The guards in their white uniforms let him through two different gates and with a happy smile, Prompto skipped up the last of the stairs, nose high in the air as the scent of lilacs in full bloom grew stronger and stronger. He knew Luna would be waiting on the terrace where the rooms on the underside of the bridge connected with the landing, but still he tried to see if he could sniff her out.

He couldn't; the lilacs were too strong against the already thin beta scent. He did, however, notice the dogs long before he walked out of the small maze of hedge plants, and so there was nothing to stop him from throwing himself on his knees as the two animals dashed towards him.

”Babies!” Prompto cooed, arms wide open until both Pryna and Umbra slammed into him, almost pushing him down. ”Look at you two go!”

He didn't need to look up at to know Luna was there; even though he still couldn't pinpoint her scent, he could nevertheless hear the snickers she didn't bother trying to hide. For a moment, Prompto continued hugging the dogs while they did their best to kiss his twisting face, but soon he had to let go.

”Aww, you're such good puppies,” he crooned while getting up from the ground. He ruffled the soft fur between Umbra's ears before finally turning to Luna, who sat at the dainty little teatime table so small it could barely hold the food items and the fine china the servants would roll out in a moment. ”Heya, Luna!”

He'd been calling her Luna in his mind for at least since he first befriended Noctis, but it had taken weeks of work from her before he agreed to call her that out loud. Now, the name rolled off his tongue easily, and he grinned in response to the bright smile Luna sent his way.

”Hello, Prompto,” she said, waving a hand in his direction; most of her attention was on the phone she was holding onto. ”Come on quick, he should be picking up any – oh, hello, dear!”

”Yeah, _dear_ , hello!”

Prompto grinned devilishly as he slid into his seat right next to Luna, and leaned against her shoulder to make sure the camera caught his presence as well. On the screen, Noctis squinted his eyes dubiously.

”You look like you've been scheming,” he accused, nose scrunched up in distaste.

”Who, _we_?” Prompto asked just as Luna laughed, ”Against you? Never!”

While Prompto and Luna laughed against the bright sunshine of late spring, Noctis frowned even deeper. At some point in Prompto and Luna's budgeoning friendship, it had become customary to FaceTime him whenever they got together, even if it was just for a couple minutes; the time difference didn't exactly make it easy to find a time that suited them all. They'd had to cancel the call more than once, but on this sunny day there was not a cloud in the sky, and Prompto was overjoyed to see the call continue until two maids with a trolley of teacakes exited the building. At some point, Pryna had joined them at table – Umbra was lazing on the green grass nearby, content to doze off in the sun – and, without even realizing it, Prompto had let her rest her head on his lap, had laid his fingers in the thick fluff of her fur.

When the call ended and the maids disappeared with curt bows, Prompto found himself choking on nothing.

Desperate to keep the shadows at bay, Prompto drew in a deep breath through his nose while Luna poured out the tea. Before she was done, he released the air as silently as possible and fixed his expression back into his usual grin, hoping that she hadn't noticed anything wrong with him. The day was too bright to be wasted on feeling bad.

”Did they say strawberry tea?” Prompto asked, peering at the cups until Luna had set the fancy teapot away. She nodded, pushing one of the saucers closer to Prompto, who took hold of the cup and set it where he wanted it.

”Black tea flavored with strawberries, yes,” Luna spoke, flashing him a brief smile. ”Is everything okay? You looked a little worried a moment ago.”

Prompto grimaced. Something in Luna's demeanor made it so incredibly easy to talk to her, yet he didn't feel right treating her like another therapist; she was a friend first and foremost, and a fairly new one at that, and though she had already seen him fall down to the bottom, Prompto didn't want her knowing the details of everything that went on in his life.

”Yeah, well,” he mumbled, shrugging awkwardly with one hand; the other still held onto the rapidly heating teacup. ”Guess I'm just worried if Gladio's letter is gonna reach him on time – you know, for his birthday?”

If she caught him lying, Luna didn't say anything about. Instead, her hand faltered where it was reaching for one of the little triangle sandwiches, and she blinked, a blank expression falling on her face. ”Didn't you do that already?” she asked, brows furrowed in thought. ”I thought you said...”

It took Prompto a moment to catch on, but when he realized what she was talking about, he gasped. ”Oh! No, no, that was the gift, I already sent that to Noctis so he can hand it over when it's time,” he hurried to explain. ”But I still had the actual letter to mail. Should've done that yesterday or, well, last week, but...”

Luna let out a small sound of understanding and dipped her chin, a smile reappearing on her face. She grabbed one of the sandwiches and laid it down on her plate, a move Prompto copied.

”May I ask, what did you get him?”

Mouth full of sandwich, Prompto nodded. An embarrassed flush rose to his face and he looked elsewhere while chewing furiously, trying to empty his mouth so he could answer. From the corner of his eye, he could see Luna smirking over the rim of her teacup, as if he wasn't in danger of choking on his food.

”A book,” Prompto croaked eventually, still needing another small pause to clear his throat before he found his voice once more. ”One of his favorite authors – out of the living guys, I mean – is from Tenebrae, and she gave a series of lectures at the campus a couple months earlier. Took me more than little groweling, heh, but I was able to get her to sign the book!”

The memory still brought an embarrassed twinge to Prompto's belly, but like so many times before, he was mostly able to ignore it. The author wasn't known for her bubbly personality or her willingness to talk to people, and even Prompto – who, despite being aware of her, had not read her novels – knew that getting the signature from her was not a feat to be sneered at. He'd felt pure glee when he'd brought the book home after the classes, and once more when he'd sat down to wrap it in parcels to be sent to Noctis.

The line between Prompto and Gladio was a thin one, and at times, it felt impossible to thread on. Over the past year, their relationship had stabilized in a way Prompto couldn't quite explain; things still weren't _okay_ , and at times it was difficult to see them ever _becoming_ okay, but the open hurt was mostly gone from between them. Prompto still struggled with finding the balance between desiring after Gladio and keeping him an arm's lenght away, but if there ever was a space where they could co-exist without expectations, then they were well on their way to finding it.

Prompto knew that as awful as his side of the story was, the pain and hurt piling atop Gladio's broad shoulders did not belong there – not yet, at least. Maybe it would, one day – and he certainly hoped so – but now, as they still continued to kindle a friendship while trying to pretend that was all they both wanted, what was Prompto's should not have been Gladio's.

It hurt to think of the pain the situation was causing Gladio. Prompto knew better than to blame himself for the entirety of it, but sometimes, when the nights were dark and the shadows long, the doubts still crept in. The old image of a chocobo-drawn carriage powered by gysahl greens dangling from a fishing rod still rose to mind, and more often than not, Prompto wondered just what Gladio had done in his previous life to deserve this; because while nothing in Prompto's life ever went that well, the struggle was, for him, the norm with or without Gladio in it. But for Gladio, who'd been happy and bright before Prompto entered his life... it just wasn't fair.

The book wasn't the most personal out of all the gifts that Prompto could have chosen, but it was something Gladio would truly, honestly like.

* * *

The next spring was the polar opposite of the year before: dark and rainy, the sky always gray and threatening the city with more water than the rivers and the drainage system could handle. In the relative safety of Prompto's apartment, the water meant very little, but the ever-present winter chill still lingered in the air weeks after the last of the snow had disappeared down the drain – and so, like all the other folks suffering in the city, Prompto took to sitting indoors wearing his fluffiest, warmest winter clothes even in spite of the fact that the calendars already declared them living in springtime.

”Please, I'm doing my best to pretend I don't have class tomorrow,” he moaned into the phone in his hand. ”I'm still frozen solid from last Friday, I'm literally gonna die if I have to go out in that rain ever again.”

The heavy rain pounding on the rooftop wasn't quite enough to cover Cor's bemused snort. ”Yeah, I think you'll survive, kid,” the man spoke. ”Would be a shame to quit school over a little water...”

Prompto laughed so hard his entire body bowed forward until he was bent over the dining table. Still cackling, he rubbed his chilly feet against each other under his chair, trying to find a source of warmth while water leaked from his eyes.

”I'm gonna,” he choked out between gasps, ”I'm gonna fucking d-drop out because of rain–”

He cut himself off, unable to speak through his laughter any longer. Even Cor joined in with a couple chuckles that gathered all the static in the air between Insomnia and Tenebrae, but Prompto barely noticed.

Eventually the laughter died. Groaning, Prompto sat up straighter and wiped a thumb across both his eyes, trying to get rid of some of the tears still gathering along his lashes. Outside, the rain let up a little, but he held no hopes for the next day – the weather forecast had promised another week of near-continuous rainfall, and Prompto knew better than to doubt it. As much as he loathed the thought of another day of classes in soaking-wet clothes, followed by a few hours in what had become his room at the campus atelier, he knew it a must.

”How's school?”

Despite knowing that Cor wasn't there to see it, Prompto nodded in response to the question as his eyes gazed over the school supplies strewn all around his apartment. The majority of of his assignment pieces were at the campus, most of them too large to be lugged around the city, but stacks of half-finished notebooks and used sheets still filled every available corner. The top of his dresser was so full of textbooks it was a miracle none had yet fallen on the floor.

”Yeah, yeah, it's fine,” Prompto replied easily, a small grin forming on his lips. ”I mean, it's almost the end of the semester so the workloads just keep on piling, but I'm pretty much on track with everything, so. It's not any worse than it was last week, heh.”

Cor's hum was audible over the phone. ”That's good to hear,” he said. Prompto smiled to himself, almost embarrassed over the softly blooming warmth seeping through his chest at the light praise. ”And how's that one essay coming along? The one that was giving you trouble last time we spoke.”

Once again, Prompto nodded to himself. ”Yeah, I think I got it figured out.” His research topic had been too wide, but narrowing it down to something suitable for the lenght of the paper he was supposed to be writing for one of his art history classes had been almost too difficult. ”It was just the topic I couldn't decide on, nothing worse than that.”

Now, he had a vague list of research questions taped to one of the kitchen cabinets, and the actual topic slowly formulating at the back of his head. Prompto wasn't exactly worried over the paper itself, but it'd take a lot of research and he really didn't have that much time between all his other classes. They were supposed to turn in a full thesis piece at the end of the fourth year, and as much as he loved what he was in the process of creating, it had ended up requiring more time than previously planned.

Stressing over school instead of other things was a welcome change. It wasn't really the kind of a stress that threatened to bring Prompto to his knees, either; it was a low burn in the bit of his stomach, a shortened sleep cycle, and the taste of caffeine clinging to his tongue. His chats with his classmates and friends were nothing but moaning and griping these days, and just the past Friday, Prompto had found himself laughing against a friend's shoulder in something akin to hysteria; moments later, they had both been wiping tears from their eyes, the worst of the stress momentarily gone.

Still, there was one more issue that Prompto wanted to talk to Cor about. Stomach quivering along his nerves, Prompto thrummed the fingers of his free hand against the tabletop while biting into his lower lip. He did have permission to talk about the thing with others, as long as he was reasonable with it – he'd been adviced against talking to the media quite yet – but still he worried.

”Cor,” he croaked after a moment of mulling over, ”listen, uh – it's nothing bad, but there's something I kind of wanna tell you?”

Cor replied with an inquisitive sound that betrayed no emotions at all, and Prompto winced despite himself. He really didn't like talking over the phone, not even with Cor. ”What is it?”

A moment of hesitation. Prompto cleared his throat and stood up, unable to sit still any longer. ”Yeah, so, I don't know if you've heard about it yet, but, uh, Queen Sylva's gonna be stepping down from the throne in two years.”

His words dwindled towards the end as what little confidence he had left his body. Shoulders slouched, Prompto wrapped his free arm around his torso and made his way over to the balcony door, the bottom of which was drenched with droplets of water the small awning wasn't enough to dispel.

”There's been speculation over the issue, yes,” Cor replied slowly. ”I know Prince Ravus is old enough that him ascending the throne is a current matter, but I don't think I've heard any confirmations whatsover. Did Lunafreya tell you?”

”Uh, no.” Prompto swallowed the lump in his throat. ”I've been contracted to make his portrait.”

Though he'd already signed all the necessary papers handed to him by the representative in charge of ordering the portrait, speaking the words out loud still felt big enough to fill the entire apartment with a dense weight threatening to suffocate him. Prompto leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the door, and though the sound Cor made was clearly of a more positive type, it didn't really help his rising anxiety much at all.

”Shit, kid, that's great!” Cor gasped. ”How – how did that happen?”

Cor didn't sound so much incredulous as simply shocked, which was understandable enough; Prompto himself couldn't still believe he'd gotten the job. Stepping away from the door, he noted that his breath had cast a clouded spot on the glass, and then, as his feet carried him across the floor, he launched into the explanation.

Near the beginning of the semester, the teaching staff had collected together the students specializing in traditional painting and portraiture. The oldest students immediately began whispering about it meaning an important commission, and they hadn't been wrong; a representative of the Crown had walked into the classroom they sat waiting in, only to explain that they would like to hire a RoTAA student to paint Ravus' portrait.

It was simple enough when put to words, but what had followed was mayhem. All the students hand-picked by the teachers had competed for the commission, and Prompto had lost count of the hours he'd spent sketching Ravus and putting together a portfolio to showcase. That he'd been chosen out of all the other incredibly talented people he studied with had been a shock so massive it had taken several moments before his ears stopped ringing and his heartbeat calmed down.

”It won't be the formal coronation portrait, 'cause that can't be done till after he's been crowned,” Prompto began. He kicked a small pebble across the floor and watched it skitter to a stop near the front door, where his shoes should've left it in the first place. ”But it's, uh, still a pretty big deal.”

Laughter boomed through the speaker. ”Yeah, you think so?” Cor snickered. ”Kid, that's the kind of a thing that'll start your career at the top.”

A flush crept over Prompto's face and he sucked in his lips, too embarrassed to respond immediately. ”Noct already made me promise I'd do his formal portraits, too”, he mumbled, then chuckled nervously. ”But he doesn't know I'm gonna do Ravus' as well.”

Cor's whistle was a high-pitched hiss of air in Prompto's ear. ”I'd pay actual money to be there to see his expression when he hears the news,” he commented dryly, wringing a burst of laughter out of Prompto. ”Still, shit, I'm so proud of you, kid. What's the schedule like? Are you gonna get paid for it?”

Prompto sat down on his bed and kicked his feet out. ”It's, uh, I'm gonna get started on it this summer, and they want it done by the summer after that,” he fumbled to explain. ”So I'll have the full year to work on it. The, uh, the coronation will be after Cosmogony, I think, 'cause that's the way it's here – the Queen's gonna step down before the festitivities, and then Ravus will be crowned after it's all over.”

While Prompto continued to speak, Cor only broke in with the occasional assenting hum. To Prompto, born and raised in Insomnia, the idea of a period during which the country would have no regent was more than a little perplexing, but so was the rule of law. Very briefly, Prompto mulled over the fact that the coronation would take place during his last semester in Fenestala City, but it was a thought that brought a nervous flutter to his chest and so he shoved it as far away as he could. While he knew that returning to Insomnia was the only real choice for him, he'd fallen in love with Tenebrae over the short few years he'd spent there, and the idea of leaving home was enough to chip at his already shattered heart.

”And the money?” Cor repeated when Prompto was done with his fumbling words. ” _Please_ don't tell me it's all unpaid, kid.”

Laughing, Prompto shook his head. ”No, no, it's – I'm gonna get some credits for it, and than a, uh, pretty decent chunk of money. _Don't_ ask how much, I'm still trying to forget the sum.”

The fee was royal in both senses of the word, and Prompto really did not want to think about the number of zeroes printed on the contract. The total was enough that he could live comfortably for a fairly massive handful of years, and though the thought did something warm and fluffy to the part of him that still remembered the squalor of the first home he'd been taken to after the Argentums, it was that very same part which felt undeserving of such a prize.

”Do you think you'll be able to do it on time?” Cor asked after a harrumph of laughter. ”It'll take all of your next school year – that's not a small commitment.”

Prompto heaved out a heavy sigh and shuffled backwards on the bed until he sat with his back against the wall. ”I know, I know,” he exhaled, ”it's not like I didn't think this through, Cor. I've got the time. I'll make the time. This is – big.”

In reality, big didn't even begin to cover the enormity of the commission, but Prompto lacked the words to truly describe what it meant for him. Not just the money, not just the promise of fame, not just the chance to do what he loved doing the most – the issue was so much more than all its facets put together. In the days following the call from the people in charge of arranging the commission, Prompto's mood had spiraled down farther and faster than he had been expecting, leaving him wondering just why it was him who had been chosen, and not some of his peers; he'd wondered if the connection to Luna or even Noct had played a part in the proceedings, if it hadn't been his own name and craft that brought him to the top of the list of candidates. He'd gotten over the worst of it, eventually, but the ugly seeds of self-deprecation had been planted too deep in his heart for him to ever be truly rid of them.

Trying to convince himself of his own worth was a feat Prompto still struggled with, but as shoddy as his self-esteem was, he wouldn't let it get in the way of his career.

* * *

Arms crossed over his chest, Prompto cast a critical look over the massive canvas set up before him. He'd already tidied the atelier to the best of his ability and cracked open a window to let out the worst fumes stinking up the air, but despite the growing chill in the air, he could feel his cheeks heating up with his flaring nerves. He – as the artist – knew that the progress he'd made on the portrait was right where it was supposed to be, but it didn't change the fact that the vast majority of the canvas was still a mess of blocky colors and vague shapes in the form of a fair-haired man leaning against a windowsill. The window itself was nearly finished, and Ravus' clothes were beginning to find their final shape and color, but so much of the piece still remained underway that Prompto felt little else but dread as he waited for the firm sound of knuckles rapping against the door.

When the sound finally game, Prompto startled. Licking at his lips, he looked around the room one more time before traipsing over to the door, avoiding all his other works; since the portrait was technically going to be a secret till its reveal, he'd been gifted a room at the Fenestala Castle, and as there really was no point in working in two separate places, he'd ended up carrying over all the pieces and art supplies formerly delegated to the small room he'd had at the campus. The atelier – a large, airy room one floor above the junction where one of the bridges met the castle proper – would be his till he left Tenebrae.

”Your Highness,” Prompto murmured as soon as he'd fumbled the old-fashioned lock open. He stepped aside and opened the door as wide as it would go, then closed it again as soon as Ravus had crossed the threshold.

”Afternoon, Argentum,” Ravus greeted him. Though his words were cool and flat, Prompto knew better than to take them as an insult, and so he nodded and motioned towards the room. ”I hope I didn't make you wait too long.”

”Nope, not at all,” Prompto grinned. ”Here's, uh, here's the portrait.”

It was neither his first time meeting Ravus, nor was it Ravus' first time viewing the work that had gone into the portrait, but still Prompto squirmed nervously while Ravus gazed the unfinished painting. Everything currently on the canvas had been okayed by at least a dozen different people, including Ravus and Queen Sylva – who had been frighteningly kind in the same manner as Luna – but nevertheless, it was always a nervewrecking experience to have one's work openly judged and criticised.

Despite Noctis' warnings, Prompto had actually found Ravus a nice person to have around; sometimes he almost reminded Prompto of Ignis. At their first meeting, when Prompto had walked into a room where Ravus already sat waiting, he'd had the usual moment of panic that still took him over every now and then, when he met someone large and unknown. Back then, it hadn't helped him at all that he'd been aware of the fact that Ravus was a beta, or that Luna was also in the room with them, or that everyone other than Noctis had told him that as grumpy as the man was, Ravus was perfectly capable of acting nice and polite when it was required of him.

They'd ended up spending quite a lot of time together after that, Prompto photographing Ravus for references and drawing quick sketches of him to brainstorm ideas for the portrait. From the moment he'd been told that they wanted something bordering the thin line between formal and casual, he'd known what he was going to do, and getting to know Ravus had only cemented his decision. The guidelines for the commission meant that he could portray Ravus the man rather than Ravus the prince – a distinction he'd learned to make years and years earlier, when he and Noctis had first approached each other in the corners of their school playground.

”Well, everything looks good to me – not that I actually know what I am supposed to be looking at,” Ravus eventually commented, the snark evident in the subtle roll of his eyes. ”I was told you had finalized the plans for my apparel, yes?”

Nodding, Prompto turned towards the table. Despite the casualty of the portrait, he'd been advised to include royal emblems and symbolic features into the design, and working his way through the mountains of research required to make it happen had taken up most of the first months; integrating the results of said research into the plan had formed the second hurdle.

”I've got some sketches here,” Prompto spoke, tipping his chin at the massive desk only somewhat cluttered with pencils, brushes, and notebooks about his projects. Once he reached it, he picked up the binder he'd left out in preparation for Ravus' arrival and began pulling out the materials he'd collected – several sketches but also entire stacks of photographs of various real-life items, showing off even the tiniest of details on things such as Ravus' sword or the decorations Prompto had been told to paint on him.

Once he was done spreading the papers on the desk, Prompto stepped aside and leaned his hip against the wooden edge while watching Ravus approach. ”You've certainly put plenty of work into these,” the man murmured after a moment of eyeing the spread of pictures before him. He tapped his fingers against the corner of a sketch detailing the entire portrait and turned to Prompto with a wry grin. ”Not at the cost of your studies, I should hope...?”

Prompto threw his head back in laughter, then shook it swift enough to make his hair flap against his cheeks. ”Yeah, no,” he huffed, gesturing at the room and the several other art pieces strewn about. ”Good practice for next year, ha.”

With his second-to-last school year nearly over, he was far enough in his studies that most of his classes and assignments were centered around his preferred style of art – traditional oil painting mimicking the style of maestros long since dead, people with rosy cheeks and bright eyes, buildings covered in flowery vines, romance and beauty in the air. The small handful of ”other” classes in his schedule were a random selection of actually interesting topics – such as watercolors, which he loved but had hardly used in the past years – and even something he and a couple friends had only chosen for the shits and giggles of it. The miserable matchstick building nearly falling apart in a shadowy corner was a testament to that.

”Your last year, was it not,” Ravus commented. He sounded almost absent-minded, still studying the sketches and the photographs, though Prompto had seen him cast an appraising look at the room. ”Will you be staying in Tenebrae once you finish your studies?”

Shaking his head, Prompto released a slow breath. He gazed around the room, from the smaller pieces of art to the massive portrait forming underneath the old windows covering an entire, slightly curving wall, through which he could see one of the bridges stretch all the way into the mountains. There were guards at the end of the bridge, and occasionally, Prompto could see people pass both on top of it and in the long hallway running on the underside of it.

The portrait had found its final form inside the northern bridge. Prompto had spent several days following Ravus around the city, looking for the perfect setting for the painting. He'd been to lavish, extremely ornate rooms inside of the castle, and gardens turning golden-red in the swiftly darkening autumn days; he'd stood next to Ravus in nearly every historically or culturally significant part of the city, and yet nothing had fit the image Prompto had in his head. He wanted Ravus casual and warm, the man he was under the frown and the polite words, but none of the places they visited were enough to bring out that side of the king-to-be.

The bridge itself had not been their destination; like all four of them, it consisted of a long sequence of rooms with a hallway running down either side. The walls were stone darkened by the pass of time, the windows small groups of two dozen glass panes, and though the glass itself had been replaced with modern window panes thin enough to actually show the outside world, the amount of light in the hallway was nevertheless minimal at best.

They were supposed to simply use the bridge to get to the other side of it, but somewhere near the halfway point of it, Prompto had glanced out of a window just to see a children's playground placed in the castle's deep shadows. Like lightning from the sky, an idea had sprung to the forefront of his mind, and he's paused, signaling at Ravus to stop as well; a moment later Ravus had stood at the window, grumpily acquiescing to Prompto's cheery orders. Ravus had leaned against the deep windowsill cutting into the wall, and Prompto had snapped a couple pictures of him, hoping, praying, waiting with excitement thick on this tongue – and then, Ravus had smiled, and small as that little wispy thing had been, Prompto had captured it.

”Argentum?”

Prompto shook his head as he was startled out of his thoughts. ”Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, a sheepish smile on his lips as he scratched at the back of his neck. ”No, uh, I'll be returning to Insomnia when I'm done.”

Ravus hummed and dipped his chin in understanding. ”I suppose you do have a home to return to, huh,” he sighed, as if the idea of Prompto leaving Fenestala City for Insomnia was the greatest insult he could conceive of. ”Shame – I am sure you could find sufficient employment here as well.”

Prompto chuckled almost nervously. Seeing a speck of paint stuck to his thumb, he tried to rub it off as he tried to think of what to say. Employment wasn't really the biggest reason he wanted to return to Insomnia – once he completed Ravus' portrait, he'd more or less be able to walk into any place whatsover and find a job there – but rather, he simply wanted to return to his family. Though he had more than his fair share of bad memories from his years in Insomnia, it was where he had began to build this new life of his, and it was where he would return to complete it as well.

In Insomnia, he had Cor. He had Noctis, too, and Ignis – and, of course, Gladio. Warmth began to tingle in Prompto's chest as he thought of Gladio and how he only had two years left in Tenebrae, an expanse of time he knew would pass in the blink of an eye. Prompto was better in many ways, though not all, and more often than not, he'd found himself thinking himself something akin to ready. In Insomnia, he could have Gladio; in thirty months or so, he _would_ have Gladio. As nervous as the prospect of their possibly shared future still made him, Prompto had, over the time, began to feel an open want towards his mate. No longer was the distance enough to squish his feelings.

”Who is it?”

It took Prompto a moment to understand the question. At first, he stared at Ravus and blinked his eyes, head shaking minutely as his mouth opened up to ask what the other meant, but then – as he saw Ravus' nostrils flaring – realization dawned on him.

”Oh, no, no–” Prompto squeaked, hands coming to cover the sides of his neck as a deep heat rose to his cheeks. ”No, um, um–”

”You don't actually have to answer that, Argentum,” Ravus smirked at him. ”I suppose congratulations may be in order...?”

Still flustered, Prompto nodded. ”It's my true mate...” he murmured, stealing a glance at Ravus, who nodded in understanding. ”I don't know if I'd even be allowed to tell you thought...”

He whispered the last words under his breath, not really intending to have them heard, but from the utterly horrified expression that immediately rose on Ravus' face, he knew he'd failed. Panicking, Prompto tried to backpedal even as the other stared at him with a mouth twisted open in digust.

” _Please_ tell me it's Scientia,” Ravus rushed out over Prompto's nervous babbling, effectively causing the blond to fall silent in confused surprise. ”Please, Argentum, _please_ tell me it's him.”

”Um.” Prompto blinked and returned his hands to his lap. ”What?”

It took a moment before Ravus continued. ”It is _obviously_ one of those three,” he spoke in a heated tone, stepping away from the desk to instead pace circles on the floor as his arms gestulated wildly, ”and seeing as the other two only have one functional brain cell between them–”

Too stunned to speak, Prompto could only stare at Ravus. When words finally returned to him, however, he found himself laughing so hard his stomach spasmed and cramped.

”I mean, you're not wrong,” he wheezed, wiping water from his eyes with fingers still smudged with old stains of paint and ink. ” _Astrals_ , buddy–”

Ravus chuckled lightly, but soon the smile fell from his face. ”It's not Scientia, is it,” he sighed. Prompto shook his head, still teary-eyed.

”Nope.”

Ravus sighed, again, a deep and forlorn sound a dozen times louder than the previous one. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he halted his pacing. ”Amicitia, then,” he spoke, and if a name could have been a curse then it would have been one, so strong was the loathing dribbling from his voice.

Though nervous laughter bubbled from Prompto's lips, he felt anything but confident under the harsh stare Ravus was laying on him. Fingers twisting into knots, he hunched into himself to watch Ravus from underneath half-lidded eyes flickering around anxiously.

”Well,” he began, still chuckling awkwardly, ”it's not – it's not an actual secret? Honestly I kind of thought Luna would've told you anyway...”

Ravus' expression didn't change. ”My sister makes a point of not passing on people's private matters,” he said with a small huff. ”Part of the job, one might even say.”

Prompto nodded, silently relieved, but with Ravus still watching him, he felt as if he'd done something wrong in admitting to being true mates with Gladio. He knew the man had little love for the Lucian Crown and its representatives, but to have that lack of fondness directed at his mate had something bitter and defensive curdling in the pit of Prompto's stomach.

”He's not that bad,” he murmured, thinking of Gladio's gentle eyes and kind smiles, of the way he described Iris in his letters, of the deep bond between him and Noctis, him and Ignis – Prompto thought of it all and brought his chin down to his chest. ”He's really nice.”

Ravus hummed, low and long, but said nothing. Shoulders tense and raised up to his ears, Prompto met the harsh glare with the trembling confidence of a child used to facing opponents mightier than him, but when Ravus suddenly lurched forward to take him by his shoulders, he still started.

”You are far too good for that lot,” Ravus spoke – not quite spitting his words, but certainly not swallowing his anger either. Prompto blinked, startled and somewhat frightened, even, but couldn't find it in himself to do anything but shake his head in utter confusion.

”Oh-kay?” he mumbled eventually, when Ravus kept on holding onto him. It seemed that the quiet whisper was the required magic word, however, as Ravus stepped back with a nod and a clap to Prompto's shoulder, his face once more impassively grumpy.

”As long as you are aware of the fact,” he said. Ravus looked at the portrait, then at the papers and photographs still strewn around the table, and dipped his chin in a wordless goodbye. ”I shall be looking forward to the finished product, Argentum. Until then.”

”Uh. Yeah.”

Rooted to his spot by the table, Prompto could only watch as Ravus breezed out of the room, heels clicking on the floorboards and chin held impressively high. At the door, the man twisted around for one last nod – which Prompto returned with a slow wave – before pulling the door shut after him. The loud clink of the lock engaging echoed in the suddenly empty, silent room, but it took another moment before he could tear his gaze from the solid wood keeping the outside world at bay.

”Well!” he huffed once the spell on him broke. ”So that was a thing that happened.”

Still feeling more than a little stupefied, Prompto shook his head and stood up properly, his hands finding his hips as he turned around to eye the sketches and the photographs. Ravus' words had left him reeling, both in confusion and in the need to protect his mate, but when he thought of it, he _could_ remember Luna praising him for befriending the prince – a compliment he'd brushed off, thinking that Ravus was simply being polite with him.

In hindsight, it had been a pretty silly thing to downplay. A pleased little smile tugged at Prompto's lips as he began arranging the photographs and sketches back into their own piles, to be tucked away as soon as he was done. Even if Ravus didn't like Gladio or Noctis, it was still nice to have friends.


	10. Chapter 9, part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is a bit shorter than usual because I had to split chapter 9 in two, and unfortunately the only possible break was at the end of this part! Good news though, the next update will actually have some of that sweet sweet Promptio content I've been promising you for ages, so hopefully that'll sweeten the deal a bit ;D

Gladio had only ever been to Fenestala City during winter, a fact he couldn't see changing unless the Oracle were to decide to start holding the Cosmogony Festival in the middle of the summer instead. Though the Lucian retinue – this time, consisting of a fairly exact one hundred people, including the entirety of the King's Council and their spouses – was arriving nearly a month earlier than usual, the snow-clad city was the same it had always been.

It wasn't every year that a queen absconded the throne for her son.

Sharp winds rustled Gladio's hair and found the crevice between his neck and the collar of his Crownsguard uniform, causing him to shiver despite the relatively warm temperature. They'd be led indoors as soon as the entire retinue had exited the airship, but that would take another moment longer; 'guards and Glaives pouring out first, then the royal family, then the rest. Gladio had been amongst the first to unboard the ship, and slowly, the cold was beginning to seep through the uniform not created for Tenebraean winters.

Indoors, they'd be served lunch and warm drinks. The schedule for the two months was a tight one, with official functions dotting all their schedules in a frequency even Ignis had sneered at, but such was the simple way of royal life. With a sigh, Gladio thought of the luncheons and the dinners, the politics and the politicians, the balls and the galas – and, of course, the Cosmogony Festival and the day of Ravus' coronation.

The airship finally empty, the group began the slow march towards the castle doors, where the silhouettes of aides in purple and white had long since been waiting for them. Though the Nox Fleurets were nowhere to be seen, there were cameras flashing all around them, and like Clarus by his side, Gladio kept on eye on their surroundings as they followed behind Noctis and Regis.

Halfway across the bridge, Gladio began to grow distracted. Now that they were walking above the city, he could see far past the stone balustrades. All of Fenestala City was spread out before him, and like many, many times before, he found himself applauding not only the architects and the workers who had made the floating castle possible, but also the simple ingenuity of ruling the country from a place where all was visible. On a clear day, the highest towers offered a view of nearly the entire peninsula, Gladio knew; the Citadel, though more or less equal in height, simply didn't compare.

But – it wasn't the castle or the brilliant architecture that kept Gladio so distracted. As beautiful as the city was, he had seen it dozens of times before, and as much as he admired the work that had gone into building the castle, that, too, was already familiar to him. No; it was a particular area in the city, and though the actual buildings and streets were too small for him to make out the exact location, the larger landmarks were enough to guide him in the right direction.

Prompto.

Even after they'd crossed the bridge and entered the castle, Gladio found himself thinking of Prompto. Nervous frustration tickled in his throat every time he realized where his thoughts had run off to, because he was on duty and should have been thinking of Noctis instead; yet try as he might, he couldn't stop the blond man from entering his thoughts in a fashion very similar to the way he'd first entered Gladio's life all those years earlier.

It was Prompto's last winter in Tenebrae, and though the latest letter from Prompto had not been able to offer any actual dates for the summer-to-come, the most important fact had been scripted down in handwriting so familiar Gladio would have recognized it anywhere: Prompto would be returning home, to Insomnia, sometime next summer. To Gladio's surprise, he'd found himseld in tears over the words; partly because it meant his wait would soon be over, but also because somewhere in the depths of his unconscious mind, he had grown afraid of the possibility of Prompto choosing to stay in Tenebrae instead. It was a fear he had never verbalized, had never grown aware of, but the moment he saw the words on the letter and felt the meaning sear into his brain, he'd burst out in sobs that had quickly but efficiently wrecked his entire body.

He knew – damnit, he knew! – it wouldn't all be over yet. He knew that as far as Prompto had come since the day of their first meeting, that as cheery and put-together as the blond sounded in his letters, that as many good news as had been shared between the two of them over the past few years... Gladio still knew that it might all come down to nothing.

Still, when the letter had confirmed Prompto's eventual return, all Gladio had been able to do had been to hold the wrinkling sheets of paper to his chest as he sobbed out his grief in the relative safety of his own bedroom. He'd cried out of hope – both what little he still had left and the lot he had long since lost – and out of love, out of shame and anger, out of so many feelings he'd barely felt them all, never mind actually putting names to them. When done, he'd hardly felt any better – the little, grumpy voice at the back of his head had tried to remind him that Shields were strong and that strong Shiels didn't cry – but nevertheless, he'd been done with his tears. A tired hollowness had settled into his chest, and now, as he walked into the Fenestala Castle, the feeling returned once more.

* * *

”Hm, I believe that is all for now,” Ignis spoke. He stepped away from Noctis with a soft clap of his hands and Gladio grunted, already ready and tired of waiting. ”Let us be on our way, then. Shall we?”

Noctis nodded with only a small frown and made for the door, barely glancing behind himself to make sure the others were following. Gladio shook his head and stood up from the plush couch he'd been waiting on, only pausing to smooth out the lines of his suit – Lucian black with golden decorations, not the most formal one but neat enough to confine his movements – before following Noctis and Ignis out of the rooms. They weren't late, yet – Ignis would never allow that to happen – but Gladio almost wished they were, because that, at least, would give him and his souring mood an excuse.

Outside the doors, one of the Nox Fleuret's aides was waiting for them. With a deep bow, she signaled at them to follow her, but Gladio hardly paid her any attention beyond what was necessary via the simple fact of existing in the same space. She led them through the castle with the expertise of one used to the narrow halls and elaborate staircases, and for once in his life, Gladio was content to simply follow her.

Butterflies were racking up a storm in his guts. Gladio splayed his palms across his stomach and pretended to smooth out any lingering wrinkles, sure that Ignis would notice him even though he was walking behind the other two. A deep breath later, he still felt the nervous bumbling continue, and surrendered to it.

Two weeks had passed since their arrival in Fenestala City, but only now would Gladio be meeting Prompto. He'd texted his mate soon after their arrival, to let him know they'd landed safely and that he was looking forward to being able to meet in person, and Prompto had replied with brightly grinning emojis and happy words. The first night in, Gladio had almost called Prompto, had almost texted him, but after nearly six years of conversing via letters and letters only, it had felt wrong somehow, and so he'd set his phone down and gone to sleep with want squeezing at his chest.

The aide let them into a medium-sized ballroom before bowing out and leaving. Gladio let his gaze trail across the small crowd of people already in the room – nobles, politicians, and celebrities from all around the world – before clapping Noctis' shoulder and guiding him past the first group of journalists waiting at the door. Though they were forced to pause and greet more than a few people on their way across the floor, the exchanged pleasantries were too formulaic and dull to hold Gladio's attention; most of the time, an unforgivable slip from someone of his standing, but now, something easily forgiven.

A red carpet had been rolled out, and at the end of it, a large square _something_ waited under a thick, midnight-purple sheet with golden borders and tassels.

”It's bigger than I thought it would be,” Noctis murmured once they'd passed their latest human-shaped obstacle. Like nearly every person in the room, he was openly staring at what was the centerpiece to today's event: Ravus' portrait.

_Prompto's portrait._

”He did spend a full year working on it,” Ignis remarked with a thoughtful hum. ”I must admit that I am quite eager to see the results of Prompto's hard work – and, looking at those around us, I would say that I am _far_ from the only one.”

Gladio only grunted in response. He was feeling – not entirely _nervous_ or even _expectant_ , though the butterflies were still rioting in his stomach. He felt pride at the sight of the massive portrait hidden under royal drapes, and a possessiveness that rarely surged all the way to the surface. His mate was today's guest of honor, the center of the party around them, and the alpha in him wanted to crow loud enough to let everyone know it was his mate, his omega, his everything they were all looking at; but he couldn't, when Prompto both was and wasn't his.

A waitress with a tray of champagne glasses passed them and they all took one, but the short distraction was over in the span of mere seconds and so Gladio's attention returned to the covered painting. Noctis' elbow in his guts only served to irritate him further, as did the teasing eyebrow waggle sent his way.

”Quit that shit,” Gladio grumbled, glancing around the room in search of a figure he'd already have smelled if he'd been anywhere near the place. ”You're supposed to be behaving.”

Noctis sniggered quietly. ”You're so damn cute,” he whispered, ”a big, hulking alpha waiting for his true mate to show up. Aww, Gladio, I can't believe you're actually showing your fee–”

”Noctis.”

Ignis' voice was silent but firm as he spoke, and at first, Gladio thought it a reprimand; then he simultaneously noticed the athmosphere in the room change and caught the first whiff of caramel floating in the air. It was sweet as it had been last year, when they'd twice met for coffee during Cosmogony, and when Gladio twisted his neck in search of the source, in search of the same door they had entered through, he felt his breath catch.

Prompto walked into the room next to a middle-aged man wearing a purple sash over his suit. It was obvious to everyone in the ballroom how nervous Prompto was; he kept on tugging at the hem of his suit, occasionally reaching up to swipe an imaginary tuft of hair from his eyes, yet despite it all, his smile never faltered. Gladio felt pride and bone-deep admiration bloom in his chest at the sight of Prompto's ear-to-ear grin and the way he was chatting with the man by his side, visibly happy and exalted as he motioned with his hands in -between his nervous tics. The countless pairs of eyes casting side-along glances on him were clearly bothering him, yet he brushed it all off and walked down the red carpet.

Though Gladio couldn't remember anyone ever introducing the man to him, he'd seen him at enough official functions to know he was an important, high-ranking Crown employee; the purple sash alone said as much. The man smiled brightly while talking with Prompto, and while Gladio almost expected to feel jealously over the easy chatting, he found himself drowning in the same sense of pride he'd felt since first entering the ballroom. About halfway down the carpet, Prompto seemed to spot Gladio, Noctis, and Ignis standing farther away, and he flashed them a brief grimace – a silent 'eek' pulling his lips wide – before ducking his head with a shy if excited blush.

He was adorable, but it was his joy – so bright and visible Gladio could almost see it form a cloud of cotton-candy around him – that had Gladio returning the greeting with a smile and a dip of his chin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Noctis twist his fingers into a subtle thumbs-up. Across the room, camera lights flashed as Prompto and the man settled in front of the covered painting, then continued lighting up as Regis and Queen Sylva – no longer regent – walked in arm-in-arm, Lunafreya entering in their wake. By Gladio's headcount, that meant that all the world leaders were now in the room, with just one exception – the king-to-be himself.

An awkward pause ensued during which no-one appeared sure of what was happening, but as Regis and Sylva made their way across the room to greet Emperor Iedolas, conversation started once more. Gladio, after a glance around the crowd, returned his gaze to Prompto.

They were standing so far towards the back of the room that Gladio could only see most of Prompto's back and the side of his face, but the view was no less dear to him. Prompto looked impeccable in his black suit decorated with threads of gold so thin and subtle they nearly disappeared into the fabric. On his right wrist, the bracelet Noctis had gifted him six years earlier was visible whenever he raised his arm, and as usual, Gladio found himself conflicted over it: on one hand, he was so damn happy that Prompto had someone important in his life, but on the other, he couldn't bear the thought of someone else claiming his mate so publically. Gladio didn't know what was up with the wrist, only that Prompto had always kept it covered up when they'd met, and that the one time Gladio had reached for it, he'd flinched away as if expecting great pain or humiliation.

He wanted to feel joy because the bracelet was a sign of protection, of love of a very certain kind, a claim of brotherhood in a world where such words could never be spoken in public; instead, Gladio felt jealousy, because still he wasn't allowed to offer any of those things to what was _his_ true mate and _his_ most important person.

When Ravus entered the room, a hush fell over the crowds. The event was not the most formal of situations – it was a press release in the form of a casual gathering of people invited to view the portrait's unveiling – and so Ravus hardly stopped to greet anyone on his way to where Prompto and the nameless man were waiting. He nodded at Sylva and Regis, then at Lunafreya, at Iedolas, at Noctis, at President Claustra and the Galahdian representatives, and then, finally, offered Prompto a handshake.

Gladio watched, and he listened, yet no amount of well-meaning attentiveness could have turned the following speech into something it wasn't: enjoyable. The man in the purple sash introduced Prompto and gave a brief explanation of the process that had gone into preparing for the portrait, but all eyes were so tightly glued to the painting that nothing else could have satisfied them. When Prompto stepped up to fumble through a speech clearly practiced but hindered by his nerves, the attention grew sharper, more intent, but still everyone was waiting and biding their time.

There was electricity in the air when Prompto looked both at the man and Ravus, as if asking for final permission, before reaching for one of the tassels. He tugged at it, and the curtain fell with a swishing sound ending in a thud that echoed through the now-silent room.

Prompto stood a little to the side, shoulders hunched in nervous expectancy, a pink tongue peeking out from between his lips, but for once in his life, Gladio had no eyes for him. Like everyone else in the room, he was too busy taking in the portrait, its dimensions and details and all the little things that made it what it was. Shocked awe drowned out the pride still making his heart beat, and Gladio had to close his mouth with haste when he realized he'd been gawking.

The portrait was magnificent.

The dimensions alone were impressive, and though Gladio stood a fair distance away, he could make out some of the details in the art itself. The portrait was not what he would've expected, and in hindsight, he could only chastice himself over his assumptions; while he knew Ravus well enough to call him a dick to his own face, he really should have foreseen Prompto's influence on the finished product. Gladio had walked into the room expecting an extremely formal portrait of Ravus scowling with all his might, but now, unless he was mistaken, he was looking at the faintest sliver of a smile on the man's face.

Barely able to tear his eyes off the painting, Gladio returned his attention to Prompto, who still fiddled with the hem of his suit jacket, but who was nevertheless grinning brighter than Gladio had ever witnessed before. The moment their gazes met across the floor was sudden enough to startle Gladio, but not enough to stop the fond, proud smile from blooming on his lips.

 _Good job_ , he mouthed. A confused blink, but then Prompto nodded and – if possible – grinned even wider, and Gladio could have sworn there was something magical in the air. It was as if no-one else existed but the two of them; the lights seemed dim, the crowds disappearing, the sounds of speech and clicking heels vanishing into nothingness.

It wasn't something that could last for forever, and soon Prompto was whisked away by Regis and Sylva, though Gladio didn't miss the sidelong glance thrown his way. He, too, had no choice but to follow Noctis on his rounds through the room, but the moment shared between the two of them still left its mark on Gladio's heart. Despite the dozens of people in the room, he could pick out Prompto's scent clear as if they were standing right by each other's side. The thick caramel stuck to his nostrils and his palate both, overcrowding his senses and overpowering all other scents in the air, and Gladio wanted to love it; he wanted to embrace the thick cloud floating around him, was willing to drown in the sugar he so desperately craved and yearned for, but he didn't. He couldn't; not when he still didn't have Prompto.

Despite the physical closeness and the bond tethering them together, Gladio and Prompto were hardly more than friends. It was something they'd need to talk about sooner or later – while Gladio was still in Fenestala City, or in their letters, or over the phone, or when Prompto finally returned home – but the promise of _in the future_ had been sworn so many years ago that it had worn into a nothingness. The little they had agreed on in the first place had been vague at best, incomplete and unlikely at worst, and whatever meager crumbs of hope Gladio had managed to gather during their times apart and together, had always been swept away from his grasp.

Gladio had been waiting for a very, very long seven or eight years. He'd been patient, he'd been angry, he'd been dispirited and hopeless, but he had made it. Only a scarce few months stood between the future he and Prompto had agreed on, the shadow of a possibility they were both desperately grasping at, but the long wait had already left its marks on Gladio, possibly them both. Come summer, Prompto would be back in Insomnia, yet Gladio couldn't imagine it meaning much.

When their eyes met across the room, Gladio felt a spark of warmth at the sight of Prompto's widening grin. When he caught Prompto's scent in his nostrils, his chest swelled in want; when he saw people pause before the portrait to gaze up at it in awe, his heart threaned to burst under the pride he felt. Yet, happy as he felt to be in Prompto's presence, the little moments did nothing to change the fact that their future together was still but an empty promise.


	11. Chapter 9, part II

On the last day of Cosmogony, the first day of the new year and the promise of better things to come, the Nox Fleurets held the ball they had held every year for centuries if not millennias, though this time, the crowds were twice as large as a result of the on-going exchange of power, and so the rooms reserved for it were twice as many as well. Every person was dressed up to the nines and then one level higher, diamonds and gemstones and precious metals glittering on nearly every chest. Gladio, who lacked Ignis' interest in fashion but shared his appreciation of beautiful people, eyed the formal suits and full ballgowns without the faintest hint of a frown on his face.

He and Ignis stood at the sidelines of the large ballroom, watching both the waltzing couples and the pair of friends almost hidden under the shadows of the balcony wrapping around the room on the next floor. The lights were already low in the area, flickering candles and countless fairy lights casting a magical glow on the dance floor but leaving the rest of the room in shadows. The bodyguard in Gladio bristled at the sight, but the side of him still capable of appreciating beauty and elegance yearned to sigh like the heroes and heroines of his favorite romantic novels.

”Is he telling him?”

Next to Gladio, Ignis glanced at him before nodding over the flute of champagne in his hands. ”I imagine so,” he murmured, then sighed. ”I cannot imagine what else could have caused such an expression on Prompto's face.”

Gladio grunted but said nothing. Under the balcony, not quite in hiding but definitely standing out of the way, Prompto and Noctis were huddling together in conversation. Knowing – or at least guessing – the topic at hand, Gladio hadn't been surprised when he'd seen Prompto's eyes widen in obvious upset, and somehow, he'd managed to reign in the possessiveness in him instead of lunging across the floor and through the edges of the dancing mass. By now, Prompto's expression had softened slightly, the confusion and the hurt lingering behind a veil of concern as he clung to Noctis' arm. Even without the orchestra and the sounds of the dancing couples, the distance alone would have been enough to drown out the words spoken between the two, and the flickering shadows cast on their faces made it difficult to guess both the sounds and the expressions.

”It was always an inevitability,” Ignis commented with a sigh. Gladio grunted and twisted the stem of his own champagne glass.

”I still think he should've told Prom years earlier,” he said, frowning slightly. It looked like Prompto was almost pleading at Noctis, who shook his head so rapidly that Gladio actually felt concern over the small crown threaded into his hair. ”I _told_ him the longer he kept it a secret, the more upset Prompto would be when he found out.”

Ignis hummed. ”You know how he is with his privacy,” he murmured, giving the area around them a quick glance before lowering his voice further: ”He and Lunafreya cannot keep it hidden for much longer. If they are to – well, those kinds of things come with a time limit.”

A grunt rumbled its way up Gladio's throat. Prompto was still holding onto Noctis' arm, but his eyes were kinder now, soft as if the hurt he'd been dealt moments before had already left his mind.

”Still,” Gladio groused, ”they could've spoken about it with each other. Shit, it's the same boat they've been in all these years!”

Ignis said nothing; there was no need to, when Gladio had just vocalized something they both knew to be true. That Noctis and Luna were true mates was not as much a secret as it was an extremely complicated, unclear knot of a problem with no visible solution anywhere to be seen. Though the gist of the issue arose from a different matter than what was keeping Gladio and Prompto apart, the reality of their lives still remained the same: separate. If Noctis had told Prompto when they had still been in high school, during the year when Noctis had met Luna after presenting and when Gladio had met Prompto for the first time ever, then Prompto would have had someone to talk to – his own best friend, not just a shoulder to cry on, but a person suffering from the exact same problem!

Gladio did know Noctis and his need for privacy, but he also knew the shattered form of his own true mate, and there was no question over which of the two was the most important one in his eyes. His loyalty and duty would always belong to Noctis, but Prompto had his heart – even if he'd never be offered one in return.

The old, worn despair washed over Gladio once again and he sighed before emptying his champagne flute. He passed it over to a waitress flouncing past them and returned his gaze to Prompto and Noctis. They'd stopped talking, it seemed like, because Prompto was holding onto Noctis' wrist and trying to pull him onto the dance floor while grinning madly, beautifully. Across the distance, Gladio couldn't quite make out the details of his eyes, but he saw the way the dancing lights cast a blue hue across the gold of his hair.

”It is not just him who is living on a schedule,” Ignis spoke all of sudden. Too focused on the smiling duo and Prompto's clumsy attempt at making Noctis spin under his arm, it took Gladio a moment to realize what the other was talking about. ”The media has been putting up a storm after Prompto's comment two weeks ago–”

”You _know_ he handled that better than could've been asked of him,” Gladio cut in snappishly, his eyes flashing in Ignis' direction. ”Fuck, he gave a better performance than Noct did!”

The day the portrait had been released, Prompto had stayed back to give a proper interview even after most of the guests had left. Gladio, along with Noctis and Ignis, had hovered nearby, and eventually Noctis had stalked up to the painting, dragging the two of them with him. The reporters, of course, had asked him about his opinion on the portrait, and Noctis – in the usual, sly Noctis fashion – had called it good practice for the ”real thing,” the ”real thing” being his coronation portrait, which his best friend would naturally be commissioned to paint.

Gladio had practically _heard_ Ignis' mental facepalm, even if his attention had all been stuck in the flustered joy on Prompto's face. Then, when Prompto had reached to touch his hair while chastising Noctis, his sleeve had slipped down to reveal the bracelet in its all royal glory made apparent if not by the shiny black leather, then by the tiny little silver skull dangling from it.

The sight of Noctis and Prompto dancing together at the ball would be enough to spark the rumors once more, Gladio knew; the media could be stopped with neither lies nor the truth. Still, when pressed by the reporters refusing to budge an inch to accept the claim of friendship, Prompto had drawn in a deep breath before resolutely saying, ”I have found my true mate and they are _not_ Prince Noctis.”

What should have been the end of that discussion had been anything but. While Gladio died a thousand deaths over the words, the reporters clung to Prompto's every word and twisted them into another question. ”Is it Prince Ravus, then?” they had asked, and Prompto had burst out in disbelieving cackles that brought tears to his eyes.

”It is neither of the two princes we have spoken of tonight,” he had eventually stated, voice firm and laughless once more, and as all the heads around them suddenly turned out in search of the third prince, Prompto had sighed in a very Ignis way before squaring up his shoulders. ”Besides, I don't remember such questions being on the list I was asked to approve of beforehand.”

That had been the end of it back then, but in the days that had passed, Prompto had risen into the media's new favorite boy while newspapers and journalists alike all tried to debate the identity of his true mate. Gladio knew it was only a matter of time before someone somewhere would make the connection between him and Prompto, and though the logical side of his brain was more than aware of the problems the event might cause, the affectionate side was preening at attention over the possibility of the public calling Prompto _his_.

”You should ask him to dance.”

Ignis' voice startled Gladio out of his thoughts, and he glanced first at his friend, then at Noctis and Prompto. The current song had ended without him noticing and the two friends were both smiling at each other, a little weary, a little sweaty, but bright and happy under it all; Gladio felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

”He won't want to,” he grunted just as Noctis began to pull Prompto in their direction. Fingers itching for something to hold, Gladio looked around in search of a waitress, but found none.

”Oh?” Ignis gasped, sending him a sly smirk over the rim of his champagne flute. ”I'm sorry, I must have missed you actually asking him.”

Gladio grit his teeth together in annoyance. He _wanted_ to follow Ignis' advice so badly he could almost feel Prompto's hands holding onto him while they swayed on the dance floor, but couldn't really see it happening when they'd hardly ever touched each other before beyond the occasional times their shoulders had bumped together while walking to a café. No physical intimacy of any kind had ever existed between them, and though every cell of Gladio's being yearned for the smallest scraps of Prompto's attention, he didn't think he could take rejection.

”You really should,” Ignis murmured a moment later, when Noctis and Prompto were halfway across the floor. The music was starting up again, and so Gladio almost missed Ignis speaking. ”Even if he denied you a dance, I am sure he wouldn't mind a moment alone with you, Gladio.”

Indecisiveness burned in Gladio's veins like electricity running across his skin. Sucking in his bottom lip, he almost bounced on his toes, his body making to move while his brain still hesitated. When the music began for good and he recognized the soft, slow cry of the first violin, Gladio made his choice and stepped into the crowd.

Both Noctis and Prompto looked surprised to see his approach, but Gladio only had eyes for Prompto, who soon noticed him staring and dipped his chin down while a deep blush spread over his face. After that, Noctis needed no explanations, and with a warm smile and a roll of his eyes, he patted first Prompto's arm and then Gladio's back before disappearing into the crowd behind Gladio, in the direction Ignis was waiting at.

”H-hey there, Big Guy,” Prompto stuttered. With his face tilted up, his eyes collected all the light in the ballroom, and Gladio thought himself enchanted. ”What's up?”

Suddenly awkward and unable to find the correct words, Gladio grimaced and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ”Here,” he grumbled, pushing out his left hand, ”would – would you like to dance?”

Though seconds passed before Prompto's answer, Gladio barely noticed it; so focused he was on the slight gap between Prompto's lips. It was all he could see, and no matter how many slow-dancing couples spun past them, it was all he would look at. When Prompto's face softened and a tongue peeked out to wet the reddened lips, Gladio glanced upwards at Prompto's eyes, seeing the sparkle of the fairy lights and the blue rendered nearly black in the darkness.

”Sure,” Prompto murmured, just as Gladio began to fear rejection, ”sure. I'd – I'd really like that, Gladio.”

Over the handful of days they had actually spent together, their hands had only ever brushed accidentally. Now, as Prompto slid his fingers into Gladio's awaiting hold, the touch – simple and so normal – was like liquid heat poured on Gladio's palm, like sparks of electricity firing up where skin touched skin. And when Gladio reached for Prompto's waist with his other hand, when he brushed against warm fabric, when he pressed his palm against the surprisingly hard muscle underneath... the whole world shrunk down to just the two of them. Tongue slipping out to wet his suddenly drying lips, Gladio stepped into position and shrunk the gap between their chests until a scarce few inches was all that separated them.

Prompto laid his hand not quite on Gladio's shoulder, but just below it, tentatively grasping at the dark fabric under the golden decorations fashioned over eagle wings – emblems of honor that Gladio usually wore with pride and respect, yet which he now found himself cursing. Still, as Gladio rearranged his hold around the fingers in his hand, he felt almost dizzy with joy, drunk on the closeness and the air shared between them.

When Prompto, still gazing up at Gladio's eyes, licked his lips and smiled shyly, Gladio thought it all perfection.

”Gladio,” Prompto whispered. His pupils were wide, his nostrils flaring visibly.

”Yeah?”

”I don't actually know how to dance.”

The words were the incantation that broke the magic spell. Laughter burst out of Gladio's chest as he tumbled back into reality, his fingers trembling and digging into Prompto's back. With a groan, he blinked away the water dampening his lashes and shook his head, a wide grin splitting his face into two aching halves.

”That's fine,” Gladio murmured, nearly slipping and adding a pet name at the end, ”I'll show you.”

He waited for Prompto's nod before carefully leading him into a facsimile of a dance. It was awkard at first, the two them swaying and shuffling their feet in opposite directions, Prompto a little too slow to follow and Gladio a little too eager to lead, but within moments, the roughness began to wear off. In the shadows of the ballroom, there was no-one to see them stumble and lean into each other like the two, love-hungry men they were. Gladio grinned at his mate, his soul and heart, and alternated between staring at his eyes and mouth, his neck and the subtle swell of a scent gland.

It wouldn't take much for their scents to begin to change. Physical contact and time spent together were the key factors, and though logically Gladio knew better than to dream, he still tried to imagine their merging scents. How it would happen, he couldn't say – couldn't imagine his flowers and Prompto's sugar combining – but it _would_ happen, eventually, if they ever got the chance to live the life they both appeared to want. Prompto would become his, and he would become Prompto's.

”Have you settled your plans for next summer yet?”

The question – the discussion – had been burning in Gladio's throat for a while now, and even as he finalyl voiced it, he found himself unsure whether he was choosing the right moment or not. The dance, the slow sway of their bodies nearly brushing against each other, was all he desired and all he'd dare ask for, yet – he needed to know, even at the risk of shattering it all. Now that he'd had his taste of what he'd been promised, he could no longer hold himself back.

Prompto nodded, showing neither surprise nor upset, and Gladio's shoulders relaxed. ”It'll probably be around midsummer,” he replied, flashing a brief if saddened smile. ”I don't have the exact dates yet, but it looks like I'm gonna be ending my rental agreement at the end of June.”

Five months, six at most. Gladio swallowed and dipped his chin in understanding. ”And... you'll be returning to Insomnia then?”

Never before had Gladio been so happy to see someone nod. ”Yeah,” Prompto murmured, a sweet blush swallowing up his freckles. ”I'm – I've been invited to visit a classmate who lives in Pagla, but that wouldn't be more than a couple days at most, so I don't. I don't really know exactly yet.”

”Yeah,” Gladio said, licking at his lips. His heart was beating so fast he was afraid of it jumping out of his throat. ”Yeah. Listen – when you're back in Insomnia, do you think – d'you think you might... want to go out on a date?”

As soon as the words were out of Gladio's mouth, Prompto's steps faltered. Gladio felt his heart plummet and nearly let go of the other – his mate, his omega, his everything rejecting him! – but after the initial stumble, Prompto hurried to match Gladio's moves once more.

”I–” Prompto began, then closed his mouth once more. Gladio couldn't quite decipher the expression under the flustered blush, but when he fixed his hold on Prompto's waist, he felt the other press against his palm in a manner he wanted to describe as eager. ”I – I would love to, Gladio. I would love to.”

There was a but in Prompto's words, and when Gladio said as much, the other nodded minutely.

”I don't know if...” Prompto trailed off, his eyes gazing at the far distance. He was silent for a long while before sighing and returning his attention to Gladio. ”I know I've come a long way since then. I think... I think I'm more or less where I should be, where I could be.”

Gladio squeezed Prompto's fingers. ”You're doing so well,” he murmured. A cold hand grasped at his heart. ”We're all so damn proud of you, Prom.”

Sadness in his eyes, Prompto still smiled. ”I don't know if I have anything left to offer,” he admitted. ”I would – I would love to go out with you, I promise I would, but I don't know – I don't know what I can be for you.”

Each word was a twist of a knife between Gladio's ribs. Had they been anywhere else in the world, he would have knelt on the floor and simply held onto Prompto's hands, perhaps even kissing them in an attempt to chase away the grief. He couldn't, though, so he simply tightened his hold by a fraction, praying to the Astrals that Prompto would understand.

”It doesn't have to be a romantic date,” he hurried, as good as pleading for whatever scraps of attention Prompto had to spare, ”it doesn't – I just want to meet you. To know you.”

Prompto's smile widened just so. ”Yeah.” He licked at his lips and gave Gladio's shoulder a soft squeeze. ”Yeah. In that case, I'd – I'd be the happiest man on Eos if you asked if me again.”

Around them, the music shifted subtly as the live orchestra slid from one song to another. Gladio, however, was so busy gazing into Prompto's dark eyes that he barely noticed the people stepping in and out of the crowd around them.

”Then you'd better tell me,” he whispered, only just able to ignore the urge to plant his mouth on Prompto's lips, ”what your dream date is like, 'cause I'm gonna make that all happen.”

Even in the dark of the room, the blush that took over Prompto's face was visible to anyone looking their way. Gladio's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the alluring redness and the way Prompto's face twisted into a flustered half-smile, half-grimace while shocked laughter spilled into the air.

”My-a-ha,” the blond giggled, gaze dancing between Gladio's eyes and left ear, ”my – oh, Astrals, dude–”

”I'm being completely serious, Prom,” Gladio cut in. He pressed his splayed palm harder against Prompto's back and tugged with his other hand, until Prompto stumbled forward and against his chest, more giggles falling from his lips. ”Tell me, and I'll make it happen.”

Only the top of Prompto's hair was visible to Gladio, but after the initial moment of shock, he felt the other all but melt into his embrace. Affection bloomed deep and warm in his chest, leaving him feeling drunk on love and all things soft; a foolish grin on his own face, Gladio spun them around slowly, finally giving himself permission to truly embrace Prompto, even if it was in the guise of dancing.

He couldn't feel the slightest hint of tenseness in the body in his arms, nor he could smell anything wrong with the thick caramel scent floating in the air around them. As far as Gladio knew, Prompto was okay with being held like this; something tantalizing and horribly giddy squirmed in the pit of belly when he entertained the thought of Prompto actually wanting it. That they were true mates was enough to pull them together like a pair of magnets glued to where their hearts should have been, but despite the bond they felt and the future they'd talked about, no actual affection had ever been shared between them.

The last time they'd stood this close to each other, it had been the day Prompto and Cor visited the Citadel to file in the registration paperwork. Gladio could still see it all in his memories, vivid and bright as if it had only been yesterday; the golden hues of autumn painting the gardens anew, the small form of Prompto slumped against the Citadel wall across the stone step they'd both sat on. Then, afterwards, the not-hug, the brush of skin on skin, the bump of Prompto's shoulder on Gladio's chest as he pulled him into the closest image of a hug he'd dared try for.

Gladio didn't want to think of the number of years that had passed since then. The rest of Prompto and Noctis' high school years, then five and a half years separated by the entire continent; compared to that, the six months they had left measured up to precious nothing. Yet now, as Gladio finally had Prompto not just by his side, but willingly and comfortably in his arms, he didn't know how he was supposed to let go and leave once again.

Prompto pulled back a moment later, the blush still painted on his cheeks and his eyes flickering here and there. He was smiling, though it was small and wispy, and Gladio felt his heart plummet at the sight of it.

”Ah, no, no,” the blond rushed out in a hurry. He squeezed at Gladio's fingers and carefully returned to their earlier form, waiting for Gladio to take lead once more. ”I, uh – were you really serious?”

It took Gladio a moment to recall what they had been talking about, but soon he nodded. ”Tell me,” he said, grinning easily despite the touch of embarrassment tingling in his chest. Already, the promise of 'romantic or not' had more or less been forgotten – or at least pushed aside in favor of rose-tinted dreams. ”I – I want to make it perfect for you.”

Prompto ducked his head shyly, then looked past Gladio's left shoulder for a while before shaking his head. ”I, uh,” he began, courage and confidence slipping from his tone within the space of two syllables, ”I – I didn't really think that I'd ever date anyone, you know? Before I met you, I mean.”

A cold hand squeezed at Gladio's heart as the implications of Prompto's words cleared up in his brain. A soft coo rising from his throat, he tilted his head to gaze down at his mate with old grief and sympathy in his eyes, but there was something else as well – a fear, a regret, a sense of having done something wrong. That Prompto's smile turned a little wider, a little kinder, did little to help.

”I didn't mean it like that, Gladio,” Prompto whispered, letting go off Gladio's shoulder in favor of brushing his knuckles against the stubble growing along Gladio's jawline. ”I was just – too young, too broken, back then. And then Lady Fate came along and rushed it all along, heh.”

The humored grin that broke out on Prompto's face was enough to draw a snort of laughter from Gladio.

”Yeah, so – I didn't think I was gonna be dating anyone, okay?” Prompto continued with a quick glance at the dancers surrounding them. ”So – so when you showed up and I realized I had a true mate, I kind of – jumped to the last page, so to say?”

Towards the end of his explanation, Prompto's voice grew squeaky and high-pitched. That, along with the continuously deepening blush still stuck on his cheeks, had Gladio laughing out loud as soon as he understood what the other was trying to say.

”Oh, Prom,” he chuckled fondly. A tear slipped from his right eye and he had to lean into his shoulder to wipe it off. ”Oh, Prom–”

”You're not supposed to be laughing at me!”

Gladio only laughed harder. ”I'm not!” he cackled. ”I'm not. I swear I'm not.”

”Then _what_ are you laughing at, _huh_?” The pout made Prompto's lips look even more kissable. ”I'm, I'm–”

Leaning forward was the most natural thing in the world, and Gladio didn't think even pause to think before moving. All his senses were full of Prompto, from the scent in his nose to the warmth beneath his hands, from the joy thrumming in his veins to the sight of Prompto's eyes and lips, both so beautiful, both so tempting–

Gladio caught himself mere inches from Prompto's mouth. For an excruciatingly long, painful second, it was as if the whole world around them had stopped; then Gladio, suddenly remembering himself, jerked back with enough force to accidentally pull Prompto forward as well. Liquid heat flooded his face in a way he couldn't remember feeling in years and he spluttered, fumbling over his apologies and feet both.

If not for Prompto's hands still holding onto him, Gladio would have torn himself free. ”Shit, I'm so sorry, Prom–”

”No, it's okay–”

Though Prompto was visibly flustered, he still clung to Gladio's form. Sweat pooled where their palms entwined, and Gladio knew he wasn't the only one who felt heat prickling at the back of his neck and under his collar. Thick, cloying sugar spun in the air around them, Prompto's natural scent only heightened by the beat of his heart and the blood rushing in his veins; yet then again, Gladio wasn't faring any better.

Taking a deep breath, Gladio forced himself to calm down. ”Still, I'm sorry,” he murmured, smiling softly. Prompto nodded, still red in the face. ”And I do promise I wasn't laughing at you earlier.”

Another nod, this one even more shy than the previous one. Silence followed, during which Gladio gazed at Prompto's golden hair and Prompto at Gladio's chest while they still continued to sway along to the music, their footwork smooth and seamless. Then, a glance up at Gladio's eyes, and a second one, and a third – and then Prompto, licking at his lips, looked sideways past Gladio's shoulder.

”So – so I don't really have a dream date, y'know,” he murmured, eyes dancing here and there, ”but – if, if you have one, then I'd like to hear about that. If you'd want to tell me, I mean.”

For at least three dozen times during the length of their dance, Gladio had thought his heart so swollen with love and affection that it should've been impossible for him to feel anything more of the same kind, yet three dozen times Prompto had proven him wrong. Drowning in warmth, he smiled at his mate and brought their bodies an inch closer.

”Any date with you would be dream come true, Prompto,” he crooned. Prompto bit into his lower lip and though his gaze still wandered here and there, it nevertheless returned to Gladio's eyes every half a second.

”Y-yeah?” Prompto gasped. His eyes were dark behind his lashes, the thin ring of purplish blue entirely gone. ”What would – you wanna do? With me?”

This was no longer a simple talk to be had; it was a seduction. The air between them hung heavy and charged with an undercurrent that hadn't been there when they'd first started dancing together. Gladio felt on his skin, in his bones; a constriction around his chest as if there was no more oxygen for him to breath.

Wetting his lips, he began to speak.

”I could always take you out to the finest, most luxurious restaurants in all of Insomnia,” he spoke in low, rough tones, his head tilted down towards Prompto, who gazed up at him with impossibly wide eyes and subtly parted lips. ”Feed you the best, most exquisite foods known to mankind. Show you off to the rest of the world, let them know that even if they traveled to the ends of Eos, they'd never find anyone as perfect as you, 'cause there can only be one and you're already – mine.”

He fumbled the last word, suddenly conscious of the things spilling from his lips, yet Prompto didn't seem to care. The realization had Gladio's heart doubling its speed once more.

”Gladio–”

”Uh-huh.” Suddenly emblazoned, he cut Prompto off. ”I wasn't finished yet.”

A nervous gulp.

”Mm-mm. So – I could do all that I just listed,” Gladio breathed, ”but somehow, I don't think you'd like that too much. Too many people, too much glitz and uppity folks spending their riches just for the sake of wasting them. No... I'd take you out for good, spicy Galahdian curries, or maybe the small Niff restaurant in the corner of that one marketplace – you know the one, I know you do, the one with the greasy sausages–”

”–with the garlic, yeah,” Prompto finished for him, a small, tender smile on his lips. ”Iggy took Noct and I there a couple times.”

Gladio nodded; Ignis had always made sure to pass on any news from Prompto, and to comment on whatever little things he'd been able to share without betraying his own friendship with him. It had never been enough, not compared to all that Gladio wanted, but it had been something, and during the loneliest hours of the first years of the long wait, that something had been enough to keep him standing.

”I know.”

Another dancing couple brushing past just a little too close, a little too carelessly was all he needed to justify tightening his hold on Prompto's waist and bringing him closer. Searing heat spread where their sides touched each other, their chests almost touching, and Gladio crooned low in his throat as he spun them into a slightly larger gap between the crowds dancing around them.

Prompto licked at his lips. ”Yeah?”

”Yeah,” Gladio repeated. Their faces were so close he'd felt the faintest puff of air breezing across his chin when Prompto had spoken. ”So – I'd take someplace small and intimate, where the food is actually good. Someplace we could talk and laugh and crack a couple beers without worrying 'bout what others might think. Eat our bellies full and then a little bit more. Just – eat and have fun. Together.”

Of course, there were so many other things he wanted to do with Prompto – with Prompto – but imagining a simple dinner out was enough to make Gladio's skin tingle and his knees weak. He thought of them sitting at a small table brimming with food and drinks, of laughter filling the air and smiles splitting their faces apart, and already it was more than he'd thought he'd ever have.

All of sudden, Gladio realized they were immersed in a cloud of sadness. The song was still playing – though it wouldn't much longer, if he'd kept track of the choruses – but Gladio found himself slowing down until he stood almost completely still, only pretending to sway to the music. Prompto was looking up at him, and though he smiled, his eyes were full of grief.

”I'm so, so, so sorry, Gladio,” the blond whispered. ”For all the hurt, all the pain... It's not enough to just say so, but I'm sorry.”

Eyes slipping shut, Gladio shook his head and dug his fingers into Prompto's back. ”It's not on you,” he murmured. ”You – you're doing what you gotta be doing.”

Though Prompto laughed, there was no joy to it. ”It's not all on me, then,” he amended. ”But some of it is, and – even for the parts that aren't, I'm sorry. You... you shouldn't be hurting because of me.”

Prompto's childhood was not on Prompto's shoulders, nor was his need for time and space; those were facts Gladio had accepted in the days following their first meeting. During the years of uncertainty that followed, those facts had remained stable, two pillars for Gladio to lean against when the going got too rough. Knowing, understanding, believing that Prompto was not the cause of all his upset and inner turmoil had not only kept him going, but had also carried Gladio straight past the pitfalls of blaming or hating Prompto for keeping them separated.

A heavy, tired sigh fell from Gladio's lips. ”Fine,” he exhaled just as the music began to die down, ”but in that case, you gotta let me apologize too.”

”But there's nothing you've done,” Prompto said. He made to move backwards out of Gladio's hold, and very reluctantly, Gladio had to let go.

”Well, maybe 'apologize' wasn't the right word,” Gladio amended with a wry huff. ”But I'm sorry, too. For all the shit you've gone through. For all the shit you're still going through.”

He opened his mouth to continue, only for all words to fall away from him. For a moment, Gladio watched Prompto, thaking in the soft crinkles in the corners of his eyes and the subtle crook of his lips, and heartbroken as he was, he nevertheless felt his chest melt into a pile of warm slush.

The last notes died out. Wearing what had to be an identical pair of smiles – brimming with sadness and happiness both – Gladio and Prompto stepped away from each other, silently agreeing that their dances were over. The last remnants of Prompto's body warmth remained on the skin of Gladio's palm, where he'd previously been holding onto his mate's waist, but already it was dissipating. His other hand was still loosely threaded between Prompto's fingers, the hold not yet broken, and like lightning striking down from a clear summer's sky, it suddenly hit him; they'd be separating again.

Only for a few months, he hurried to reassure himself, only until midsummer, only until Prompto's studies were over, only until the end of all the waiting and crying and begging – but now that he'd literally had Prompto in his arms, Gladio didn't want to let go.

”I love you.”

The words rushed out of his mouth without a single obstacle, without any interference from his brain, but even as his voice carried the syllabless into the silence around them, Gladio couldn't bring himself to regret them. Heart thumping in his chest, he watched the minute changes on Prompto's expression as if time itself had slowed down on them, seeing the eyes widen in shock, then the blush, then the chin tilting down as if to hide the tender little grin tugging at his lips.

When Prompto looked up a moment later, his eyes were shimmering with unshed wetness, yet there was nothing else in his expression but love so think and deep it shone through everything else. While Gladio still remained lost on the edge between regret and relief, Prompto's mouth opened, then closed once more, and with a shake of his head, he lifted Gladio's fingers to his lips instead.

Gladio nearly sobbed. The touch – the kiss! – was chaste at best, a brush of dry lips across the bony skin of his knuckles, yet it brought a stone to Gladio's throat all the same. Unable to speak through the weight holding him down, he twisted their hands and leaned in to return Prompto's affection; he left a mirror of the first kiss on bony fingers where the callouses were so unlike his own, rubbed in by art rather than physical work, yet behind the faintest whiff of paint solvents, the caramel mixed with the generic omega odor, flooding Gladio's mouth with saliva even as a pressure began to build up behind his eyes.

So close, yet... he had no choice but to draw back, to drop their arms, to let go completely. The break between the songs was nearly over, and they'd soon need to leave the floor; the orchestra was setting up something faster and more upbeat, and Gladio didn't really want to be clogging the floor when that started.

His entire body yearned to reach for Prompto, to take hold of him once more; drunk on pheromones and scents and the exhilarating joy of having his hate so close, Gladio could only wish that Prompto felt the same. For another moment longer, they hesitated on the dance floor, awkwardness and fondness mingling in an odd kind of a dance, but then Prompto's eyes fixated on something behind Gladio's back and he steeled his shoulders, a determined expression taking over his beetrood-red face.

”I'm gonna dance with Iggy,” Prompto murmured firmly, startling a laugh out of Gladio. ”I'm – I'm gonna make him dance with me, 'cause then I'll have danced with all three of you.”

”You go do that, buddy,” Gladio chuckled even as he desperately prayed for any excuse whatsover that might keep them together for another moment longer. ”Let him know that saying 'no' ain't an option here.”

He saw Prompto's shoulders shake with silent laughter when the blond breezed past him, a determined stride in his step as he marched towards Ignis' shadowed form. Gladio trailed after him, simultenously luxuriating in the moments of simple bliss that just passed, and grieving the short handful of months that would soon follow.

He reached the end of the room just as Prompto was physically trying to pull Ignis onto the dance floor, both hands clamped around Ignis' wrist and a pout on his face. Gladio grinned at Ignis, waggled his eyebrows, then somehow managed to find it in himself to smile another bit wider when Ignis, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, grabbed hold of Prompto and spun him onto the floor with enough flourish to leave the blond open-mouthed in shock.

”Have fun?”

Noctis' question alone was not enough to tear Gladio's attention away from Prompto and Ignis, but the elbow nudging his side was. Drawing in a sigh, Gladio rolled his eyes and turned to glance at Noctis, who grinned at him with something akin to mischief, then returned his gaze to the mess of bodies flying across the floor to the happy beat of the music.

”Sure did,” Gladio replied. Despite the pain of separation looming behind his back, he still felt his hear swell at the sight of Prompto grinning up at Ignis. ”Sure did.”

Noctis chuckled and bumped his elbow against Gladio's side once again. ”Sure looked like that,” he grinned, something awfully teaseful yet equally fond in his tone, ”and believe me when I say that Iggy and I aren't the only one's who noticed.”

 _Good_ , Gladio wanted to spit out, yet somehow he managed to rein himself in. Someone would soon make the connection between the visible shows of affection shared on the dance floor, and Prompto's public statement over having already met his true mate; but Gladio couldn't bring himself to care. Deep inside, he was thrilled, overjoyed in an extremely titillating way. He wanted to let the world know that Prompto was his, would have willing screamed it at the entire human population to hear if he had, for one second, felt that Prompto would appreciate such a feat.

Gladio remained silent. He watched Prompto have fun with Ignis, then chatted with him for another moment longer, but then the methaphorical clock struck twelve and all dissipated to dust. Exhausted after hours of partying, Gladio dragged his feet back to the rooms he shared with Noctis and Ignis, and if he spent a moment sitting on the edge of his bed with his face pressed into his palms and hot tears soaking into his skin, then – well, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it only took 60,000 words to get here :'''')
> 
> also i hope the wait was worth it lol


	12. Chapter 10

Prompto's last night in Tenebrae was a sleepless one. He'd spent the previous day walking around all of Fenestala City, taking trains and buses from the top of the mountain range to the distant woods at the edge of the city limits, from areas he knew like the backs of his hands to places he'd hardly ever visited before; yet the physical exhaustion had not translated into sleepiness.

As he lay in bed, Prompto thought of the past week – the past six years – and tried to breathe around the heavy lump stuck in his throat. He'd already said goodbye to all his friends, from Luna and Ravus to his classmates and the random acquintances picked up along the way; the vast majority of his belongings were already in Insomnia, packed into a van and driven all the way to the brick-red townhouse he'd soon be returning to; he'd arranged all his businesses, had tied up all loose ends, had done all he could to prepare for his leaving.

And yet, he couldn't sleep. Awake in his bed, Prompto watched the balcony door and the window now bare of curtains – save for the ancient blinds inside the window, which did little to stop the lights from pooling in – and let his gaze lazily track the occasional shift in the shadows, the glare of car lights painting the ceiling yellow long before the rumble of a passing machine reached his ears. The apartment was empty of nearly everthing that had not been there when Prompto first arrived in Fenestala City; only one suitcase remained in wait of his sleep clothes and the little daily items that he hadn't been able to send in ahead of himself.

Prompto didn't want to leave Tenebrae; it was something he'd felt for days, weeks, months now. Yet, at the same time, he knew he couldn't stay either, that as much as he'd found his dream and his home here in the heart of Fenestala City, he nevertheless belonged elsewhere. Insomnia had his family and friends, the prospect of a long-term employment at the Royal Museum, and even more importantly, it had Gladio and the promise of an end to all their waiting and pining. He couldn't stay, as much as it hurt to admit it, but – Prompto wasn't ready for his time in Tenebrae to be over.

The last time he'd checked the time, the clock on his phone screen had read 01:56; now, after what felt like no sleep at all, it insisted that an hour and a half had passed since. Prompto stared at the massive numbers in weary, frustrated exhaustion, tried to blink the daze away, yet the time remained the same: 03:23.

His ride home wouldn't arrive till five, but after another moment of waiting and begging for the sleep to come, Prompto sighed and heaved himself into a sitting a position. He craved sleep like he'd never craved anything before, yet it still continued to avoid him. With a sleepy groan, Prompto rubbed the crust from his eyes and cast his apartment a bleary look, taking in the emptiness and the bare surfaces. A hollow ache settled into his chest, a discomfort he knew he wouldn't be able to lose until he arrived in Insomnia, if even then.

He really was leaving.

Though it was the middle of summer, the night was cool and the floorboards downright chilly when Prompto stood up and walked over to the dining table, where a crappy old desk light was the only remaining lightning fixture not yet taken down and boxed away. On the floor by the table, his suitcase, and inside that – two worn shoeboxes full of letters.

Heart beating loud in his chest, Prompto hoisted the boxes under one arm and grabbed the desk light with the other, dragging it as close to his bed as the electric cord would allow. The light was dim at best, but nevertheless enough to make out the familiar curl of Gladio's handwriting on the front of the first stack of envelopes that was revealed when he took off the flimsy cardboard lid long since falling apart. Both the boxes and the letters had seen their fair share of use and wear over the years.

Six years was a long time. Now that it was less than two hours from being over, it felt both like an eternity and the blink of an eye. A small smile tugging at his lips, Prompto fingered the topmost letters, dragging a nail across a stamp and feeling for the indents where Gladio's pen had pressed deep marks into the paper. The first letters they had exchanged had been so awkard, full of stilted questions not unlike the fumbling enquiries of a child approaching a new pen pal, and it would be a lie to say he had not considered quitting with the activity; yet he had persisted, and over the passing time, the letters had grown more relaxed, more intimate.

A sudden grin splitting his face, Prompto returned the letters into the box and instead pulled out the last sheets of letter paper – stamped with little dancing chocobos around the edges – and a small writing pad with a sparkling pen – also chocobo-themed – attached to the top of it. Gnawing on his lip, Prompto shifted around on the bed until he sat with his back against the wall, the meager light source barely enough to illuminate the paper after he'd folded it out across the writing pad.

_Gladio–_

_I know, I know – I already told you in my last letter that it'd be the last one. In my defense, that's what I thought at the time, okay! This is a litte embarrassing since I'll already be in Insomnia by the time this letter gets to you, but, uh, surprise I guess?_

_It's now 3:37 at night. My ride won't be here till five, and I know I should be sleeping, but I just can't. I totally wore myself out yesterday by giving the city one last tour, and I thought that'd be enough to knock me out for all of tonight – as if! I'm so awake I could probably run a marathon on all this nervous energy, haha._

_I don't really want to leave Tenebrae. I've liked it here, and I know coming here was the right choice even if it took me a couple years to really figure things out. I keep on looking at my apartment – everything's been cleared out already, and I'm guessing Cor has already had all the boxes ferried upstairs – and it's just so empty and barren I feel like... I don't even know what I'm feeling, actually. I don't really want to leave because this tiny little apartment is all MINE, the neighbors are all mine, the streets are all mine. The apartment is mine in a way no other place has ever been, except the room I had at the Argentums, but it's also more than that. It's home, as temporary as it was always going to be, and I don't really want to give that up quite yet. As happy and excited as I am to finally be returning to Insomnia, there's a part of me that just isn't ready to let go of Fenestala City quite yet. I know I can always travel back to visit, but... it just isn't the same. It's the apartment I don't want to lose yet._

_The last time we met at the ball, you asked me what my dream date would be like, and I think told you something along the lines of me having skipped from meeting my true mate to the ”end result.” I'm pretty sure that's the phrase I used – the end result. Now, I know it comes off kind of... well, naughty (and if you'll try to tell me I was the only one thinking that then I'll send Iggy your way) but what I really was talking about was the actual life of it. You know, the one where I have my mate and my alpha and we live happily ever after, just like that._

_I know I've already told you this, but the Argentums were THE parents for me. I have Cor now, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to call him dad even if that's the role he's got in my life now. Anyways, I don't really remember the houses I lived in before the Argentums, but I think I can remember being a really noisy, clingy, weepy sort of a kid when mom and dad first brought me home. They really did love me, heh._

_So I'm – getting off the track a little, here. At the ball, I think I told you that I hadn't really thought about dating before I met you – mostly I just wasn't ready for it, like maybe I was too young, maybe I was too fucked up in the head to consider it a possibility. So when you showed up and I realized I had my true mate already waiting for me, I skipped the parts where I was supposed to get to know you, and moved straight to the part where we had the kind of a life that mom and dad had. It's not really the sex I was thinking about at the ball, but the... domestic bliss of it, I guess. And I know it probably sounds dumb and all, but it's the part of life that I always thought beyond my reach, you know? Or rather, at the Argentums I thought it the norm, but then I went from one shitty home to another and I started thinking that that kind of a life just wasn't for me._

_And then you showed up. And then I looked at the future and saw all that good stuff. And at the ball, when you asked about my dream date, I couldn't describe one to you because I'd never – never, honestly, never-ever-ever – actually thought about it! What I'd thought about was how mom used to work from home but dad didn't, and every Friday he brought her a bouquet of flowers and then made a show of kissing her really noisily and disgustingly even if I was still in the room. I thought about the nesting closet we had at home, and how dad let me sit with him when he had his heat, and how mom kept on handing me things like pillows or blankets to drag to him, so he could nest better. They were always happy and smiling. On the weekends, when it was dad's turn to cook breakfast, he'd wake me up while mom slept in, and then she'd eventually come downstairs all sleepy and grumpy and just lean against dad's back while he stood at the stove frying eggs the way she liked them._

_In hindsight? I know they had to have their fights and arguments somewhere. No-one gets through life without doing that at least occasionally. But every memory I have of mom and dad is just like that – all happy and fluffy and full of puppies and rainbows. They were happy, I was happy, and when I saw you and realized who you were, that's the kind of a life I imagined us having. The idea of needing to date you first didn't even cross my mind, because the end game was already what I dreamed of._

_You know all that stuff they say about true mates being able to live their lives separate of each other? It's all bullshit. Like – I know that if you died, I could probably get over it, or that if you suddenly turned out like a murderer or something, I could drop you without a single problem over it. But that's not the case, and for so, so, SO long now, I've felt your precense like a missing void by my side, and every time I've realized it, it's chipped a part of me away. I couldn't live without you. I don't even want to try. I feel like I would die if I didn't have you in my life._

_I don't know if can offer you what I want from you, but I want to try. Gods, Gladio, I want it so bad I'd crawl my way back to Insomnia if I had to. I'm so, so, so sorry for all the waiting I've forced you into, all the pain I've caused you over the years, because here I am, once again asking for the same fucking thing: I want to go out with you, but I don't know if I know how to be in a relationship. That's the one thing I still haven't been able to try, after all, but if you still want me after this, then I want to try. With you._

_It's 4:09, now. I'm looking at this letter and I kind of feel like shoving it into my suitcase instead of the mail box outside, but I'm not gonna do that. I also feel like I might, some four days from now, set up camp at YOUR mail box (or wherever your mail gets delivered to anyways, I don't know if you've got the good old mailbox like us plebes, heh) so I can grab this letter before you get to it, but I probably won't do that either. I know that over the years, I've promised you honesty and the full of everything I've got to say, and for the most part, I think I've succeeded at that. But if there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that I've got to talk about things, so this is me doing exactly that: talking about things._

_You've been my dream for so many years now, Gladio. In a way, it breaks my heart to leave Tenebrae behind, but if that's the cost I'll have to pay to have you (and Cor, and Noctis, and Ignis) in my life, then so be it. I'll have work and friends and other lovely, awesome things in Insomnia as well, but... most of all, it's you that I want. Because I've had my first dream come true already – Fenestala City gave me that – and now it's time to set towards the second one, and that's one I can only find wherever you are._

_See you soon, Gladio. I don't know if I'll have the energy to meet today after the hell of a drive I have ahead of myself, but then again – if Noct doesn't show up with pizza and you and Iggy in tow, then it'll be ME paying for our first date, ha. Today or tomorrow or the day after, I don't know how long it'll take to sleep off the drive, but – today or tomorrow or the day after, I'll try my best to give my heart to you. I promise._

_Love,_   
_your Prompto_

* * *

”Well, this is it, huh.”

Prompto stood with his hands on his hips, uncomfortably aware of the car waiting only a few feet behind his back. It was time to leave; he'd walked out of the apartment, leaving the keys on the table and triple-checking everything before closing the door for one last time, and that had been it. The driver – from some fancy VIP chauffeuring company – had hoisted his suitcase into the trunk, and was now waiting in the front seat.

Everything was ready; Prompto just needed to get the last of his goodbyes done.

”Yeah,” he sighed, a sad small on his face, ”yeah.”

Aurus stood at the front door, his dog waiting patiently at his feet. During the preceding week, Prompto had made sure to do one last round through the neighbors he'd come to treasure during his stay in Tenebrae, dunking cookies in cups of tea and nodding his head at whatever the old grannies had to tell him. One night, he'd run into the beta banker in the hallway; the short conversation that ensued had included more words than they'd shared in six years, yet Prompto had been in tears at the end of it. A simple handshake and a few words of good luck was all it had taken to remind him that he really was leaving.

Aurus was the only one who had woken up to see him leave. Prompto smiled at his friend, blinking away the burn in his eyes, and stepped forward with his arms spread wide.

”Time to go, I guess,” he murmured, though most of the words were lost against Aurus' chest as the other man pulled him close. Hidden from view, Prompto allowed himself a split-second of scenting the air, taking in the now-familiar alpha musk he'd once been so terribly afraid of, but which now was a facet of home just like the parfume Mrs. Cuprum wore on Fridays or the stink of cabbage stew that permeated the entire building every now and then. That he no longer shied away from Aurus' scent was not a new revelation, but still it sent shivers down his spine all the same.

He'd come so far.

”Take care, you hear me?” Aurus planted his hands on Prompto's shoulders and gently pushed at them until Prompto had no choice but to step out of the embrace. ”And drob by if you're ever around, yeah?”

Prompto chuckled under his breath. ”Yeah, maybe I'll skip the fancy balls for a couple rounds of bingo,” he grinned, something nervous and titillating fluttering in his belly. He held no doubts over his attendance of the Cosmogony Festivities next year – the only question was whether he'd be invited over his own connections to the royal family, or as Gladio's plus one. Neither option sounded any worse than the other.

”Yeah, maybe you should,” Aurus laughed, but soon his expression fell away and gave way to sadness. ”I won't be holding you any longer, but... Take care, Prompto. Take care.”

Prompto glanced at the car still waiting for him, feeling almost guilty over how long he was taking. The driver probably didn't care – the longer Prompto stalled, the larger his pay – but no amount of pep-talk could abate the nervous rolling in the pit of his stomach.

”You too, buddy,” Prompto smiled, turning back to Aurus. ”Keep in touch, 'kay? There will be a price to pay if I don't get my daily fix of puppy shots on Moogstagram, you know.”

The joke worked as intended: while he bend down to give the pup in question a good scritch behind the ears, Prompto could hear Aurus' quiet chuckles. The soft, long floof between his fingers felt heavenly enough that Prompto couldn't bring himself to regret the lenghtening moment he spent crouched before the dog, digging his fingers into her fur and cooing while she panted and yipped happily. Eventually, however, he had no choice but to stand up – the dog whining as if to beg for more – and face Aurus for one last time.

”Well,” Prompto sighed, ”I guess this is it, huh.”

”Yeah.” Aurus reached over to bump his knuckles against Prompto's shoulder. ”Let me know when you get home, okay? That won't be a fun ride ahead of you, heh.”

Though a grin tugged at the corners of his lips, Prompto could only twist his face into an exaggerated grimace. ”Trust me, I know. Already done it once, remember?” he replied, thinking of the day Cor had driven him across the continent; it seemed like something from an eternity ago, and though time had gilded most of the hours-long stretch in his memory, Prompto could, in fact, still remember the giddy boredom and how he'd nearly been biting on his tongue to keep from asking if they were already there yet.

Perhaps it would've been easier to catch any other form of travel back home, be it a plane or a train or even a boat across the shimmery-blue ocean, yet in the end, the car had won out. Cor had offered to pick him up, just as he'd offered to drive Prompto to Fenestala City in the first place, but that was an offer Prompto had declined right off the bat. Though there was a part of him that still, after all these years, saw that Cor hadn't given up on him and as a consequence, would have been willing to do anything for his new father-figure, the travel back to Insomnia was the culmination of a lifetime of fighting. It marked the end of not just his university years, not just the end of his pining, not just the end of his self-set deadline of ”recovery,” but also the end of all bad things in his life – or so Prompto told himself in the mornings, when he stood before the bathroom mirror giving himself a pep-talk to get the day going. He knew, of course, that things wouldn't be so black-and-white no matter how far in the dust he left his past, but more often than not, he was now able to focus on the good over the bad.

Bidding his goodbyes to Aurus had been the last obstacle separating him from home, and now that it was done, there was nothing left for Prompto to do but slide into the backseat of the car. It was tidy and well-kept, and – thankfully – nowhere near as strikingly opulent as he'd thought it'd be after he'd seen the estimated price tag. It wasn't nothing he couldn't afford – few such things existed, these days – but despite his best friend, his mate, his other royal and noble friends, the core of his heart still contained the boy who had grown in poverty for far too many of his childhood years.

”Ready to go, sir?”

Still fumbling with his seatbelt, Prompto glanced up at the rearview mirror and nodded. ”Yeah, as soon as you're ready,” he agreed. Done with the seatbelt, Prompto settled into the contours of his seat, thanking the Astrals that he had brought a pillow and a thin blanket into the interior with his backbag and the thin summer hoodie he'd grabbed just in case the weather turned sour along the way.

Aurus was still standing at the doorway, his arms crossed and the dog sitting at his feet. The car started and Prompto raised his hand to wave at his friend, putting on his widest grin regardless of how fake it felt on his face, and as the driver slowly packed out of the small plaza, Prompto let his gaze pan across it one last time.

There was the café he'd visited with Gladio and friends alike, where he'd sat working on sketches and essays and heavy bricks of history tomes; there was the mail box that had seen dozens and dozens of letters written by his hand, and there the little flowershop whose owner so carefully helped tend to the other flowers blooming in the plaza. There were the residential buildings, there the one filled with obscure comparies so small it was a miracle they all still existed, and there – there, the apartment building.

His own windows were bare of curtains; only the flimsy metal blinds remained in the kitchen window. The handful of small flowerpots he'd grown on the balcony he'd handed over to a selection of his neighbors, knowing they wouldn't survive on their own until the next resident arrived to care for them. Aurus and the dog still under the awning, still looking at the car as it slid away, still waving and wearing an expression of longing not unlike the grief threatening to shatter Prompto's heart anew.

He was leaving his home.

”Can you take the longer route through the city?” Prompto asked once the plaza was finally out of sight. ”Like – around the castle. By the RoTAA.”

”Sure thing, sir,” the driver replied easily enough. He was an older beta male with graying hair and light stubble along his jaw, though the uniform he wore was neat and almost too formal in Prompto's mind. ”Any other places you would like to see?”

Staring out of the window, Prompto had to think for a moment. ”Nah,” he sighed after a beat. ”Just – drive around the city once more, please. That's good enough.”

”Will do.”

It was almost silly how rarely Prompto had traveled by car while in Fenestala City; the buses he was familiar with, yet now that he was sitting in an actual car, he realized the two couldn't even be compared. The scenery was different, and though Prompto was familiar with all the all the areas they traveled through, he couldn't help thinking that there was something different in it. Or, he had to acknowledge, perhaps everything was the same and it was him yearning to see something where there was nothing. It would be a long, long time since he next visited Tenebrae, and already he missed the place.

* * *

Nearly three hours later, Prompto stood in the intersection of three roads: one headed towards the long sequence of bridges connecting mainland Tenebrae with Lucis, one towards the Nifflheim border, and one back to Fenestala City. A moment earlier, they had exited the long tunnel traversing through the mountain range, and on a moment of weakness, Prompto had asked the driver to make a stop.

Other than the drive from Insomnia, Prompto had traveled through the intersection once more during his stay in Tenebrae: to attend one of his school friend's wedding in a smaller village just across the Tenebrae-Nifflheim border. On more than one occasion, he had crossed the mountain range surrounding Fenestala City to visit other parts of the peninsula, but none of his travels had brought him as close to Lucis as the location where he now stood. The road they were on would take them along the sides of mountains rising from the ocean, and where there were no mountains, there was water. On a perfect summer's day such as this, the ocean glimmered in all shades of blue, like handfuls of diamonds tossed across dark velvet, but if Prompto let his gaze travel down the road into the direction they had come from, he could still see the highest towers of Fenestala Castle standing above the mountaintops.

The ocean breeze ruffled his hair and pushed through his thin shirt, but it wasn't cold. He pointed his camera at the towers he could name even across the distance and snapped a few pictures of them, then slowly turned to his right until a series of photographs panned the mountains transforming first into a golden beach, then back into craggy rocks jutting out of the blue waters to support the road built atop them. When he'd photographed all there was to see, Prompto lowered his camera and tried to ignore the way his heart seemed to be beating against nothingness.

The crash of waves was deafening in his eyes, the smell of salt so strong he thought he'd choke on it. For another moment longer, Prompto watched the mountains and the ocean, the barely-risen sun shining behind it all, and told himself he wasn't allowed to feel regret; not over this. Not over a place that had only been a temporary home. Not over giving it all for his true home, where he knew he belonged.

When Prompto returned to the car, so did the driver; he'd been walking in slow circles a little distance away. ”Ready to go?” the man asked once they were both inside the car, to which Prompto replied with a nod.

”Yeah,” he spoke, then huffed, ”sorry for all the stalling, man.”

”Your money, sir,” the driver grinned; then the car started and they were off once more.

* * *

Hours and hours and hours of driving left Prompto in that state of irritable drowsiness where his brain ached for rest while his body fought and resisted it. His spine ached where he'd attempted to nap against the door, and the short breaks they had taken every hour or two to stretch their legs had not been enough to unfuck his body. At first, stopping for lunch at a roadside burger joint with an open terrace and a view of the sparkling sea had sounded like the most brilliant idea in the world, yet as Prompto had soon found out, the simple weight of the greasy meal hadn't settled well with him, leaving him uncomfortably bloated and borderline nauseous without actually sating his hunger.

Prompto was not having a fun time. After several hours of driving, the scenery – mountains to his right and ocean to his left – had long since ceased to entertain him, and though crossing the bridges connecting the Tenebraean archipelago brought some variety to the landscape, it simply wasn't enough. From the backseat of the car, Prompto had neither the time nor the space to admire the lush nature and the old towns they drove past, and even when they sped through the last bridge and into the most distant corner of Tenebrae, a dry stretch of land that would eventually transform into Lucian deserts, all he could do was lean his head on the window and pray it would all be over soon.

He had his phone, but other than an occasional text to Cor or his friends, Prompto didn't pay it much attention. The post-lunch nausea had vanished as soon as the food and the bubbly soda had began to settle, but he knew from experience that spending too much time bent over his phone would only result in him feeling sick. Sighing, Prompto fluffed up the pillow lodged between his shoulder and the door and let his gaze pan across the vast expanse of red earth.

”The canyon's coming up in fifteen,” the driver spoke suddenly, startling Prompto; the man had been quite pleasant to be around, occasionally making comments or funny quips over this or that, but mostly remaining silent. ”Would you like to stop for a break, sir?”

Prompto thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. ”No, it's fine,” he said, ”unless you need to stop. I'd just like to get home sometime soon, ha.”

The driver huffed a laugh. ”Don't we all, sir.” Prompto could just see the grin on his face. ”I'll just drive straight through, then?”

”Sure.”

The canyon – the ancient landmark between the Kingdoms of Lucis and Tenebrae – came to view long before the car reached the bridge stretching across the gaping maw. It had been a stunning sight in Prompto's schoolbooks and the occasional documentary on TV, and witnessing it live for the first time had left him speechless; now, it still impressed him, but the drive had left him too exhausted to actively enjoy the view.

There were no border checkpoints at the bridge, and only the occasional patrol observing the long lenght of the canyon up to the point where it once again joined the Nifflheim border; both Lucis and Tenebrae focused much of their security around the major cities, not the outskirts. Despite being the only point where the roads between Lucis and Tenebrae converged without branching through Nifflheim, traffic – thanks to the ease of flying and traveling by train – was light, so Prompto wasn't surprised when he saw that there was only one other car on the road near the bridge.

With little else to focus on, Prompto craned his neck to study the car. It had parked just off the road, and he could see two people outside of it; one sitting against the trunk with a cigaratte in his hand, and one pacing circles a little further away. The observation shortened his wait by only a few seconds, and with a heavy, weary sigh, Prompto returned his gaze to his own window and the pass of dusty red earth sparsely dotted with dry shrubs and trees that appeared dead where they jutted out of the ground. The rising heat distorted the horizon and created a gradient between the rusty earth and pale blue sky, nearly covering the faint outline of the mountains rising in the far, far distance.

The car beginning to slow down as they approached the bridge was not a surprise to Prompto, yet he instinctively glanced at the driver all the same. They were almost to the bridge, now, and already he was counting the hours before they'd reach Insomnia. Five or six, depending on how many stops they made and how badly crowded the city gates were, and from the checkpoint at the wall, another sixty to ninety minutes to reach home... Prompto wondered if Gladio would be there waiting. Cor would, without a doubt, be at the door before the car even stopped moving; and Noctis would should up sooner or later. If he brought Ignis along, then Gladio would certainly be there as well, and then – what would he do? See Gladio standing there, smile and nod at him, or perhaps even rush to hug him – or not, because Noctis would want the first hug and steal it from him, and Cor might or might not take the second. Prompto imagined himself hugging Noctis, then Cor, then Ignis as well, and then turning away from him to face Gladio–

The car slowed down to a crawling space, then came to a total halt. Swallowing, Prompto shook his dreams out of his head and turned to look questioningly at the driver, understanding as soon as he saw one of the men standing a little too close to the road, one arm swung out in an obvious plea to stop. Sighing, Prompto closed his eyes for a moment – he really, really, really wanted to get home – and when he opened them once more, he saw the man stepping up to the right front window, which was already rolling down.

What happened next made no sense. Prompto's attention was focused on the right side of the car, where the man leaned down to speak through the open window, and where the other man had paused next to the second car; he waited for the man to explain himself, to ask for questions, but before anyone could speak up, a loud crash reverberated through the car as the driver's window caved in, and the next thing Prompto knew, he was screaming at the blood and gore splattered all over the dashboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On one hand, I'm *really* proud of this chapter, but on the other, I kind of feel like I should find a bunker to hide myself in............ ;)


	13. Chapter 11

One hour after Prompto was supposed to have arrived and nearly seven hours without any contact with him, they all knew something had to have happened. Gladio paced circles in the formal sitting room Cor had shoved him, Noctis, and Ignis into, biting his nails and watching Cor march around the kitchen island in the next room, one hand digging into his hair and the other holding a phone to his hear. The last time Gladio had been inside the townhouse, the scent clinging to the air and the furnite had been reminiscent of deep, dusky wood like an old, wild forest; now, all he could smell was the smoke and the clear bitterness of a distressed omega. It mingled with Ignis and Noctis' more familiar if equally worried scents, and Gladio felt ready to puke in the midst of it all.

”This isn't right,” Noctis murmured as soon as Cor lowered the phone, a truly scared expression on his face. ”This isn't right–”

”Damn right this isn't right,” Gladio snapped. Noctis flinched and paused where he'd been reaching for Ignis' arm. ”He should've been here already–”

”Gladio,” Ignis cut in, his voice betraying no emotions beyond the softness of the warning. Enraged over the show of calmness, Gladio nearly lunged at his friend. ”Yelling will be of no help in his situation.”

Thirty minutes earlier, they had all been shrugging their shoulders while eyeing each other nervously; fifteen minutes after that, their collective anxiety had grown thick enough to taste. Now, there was no restraining the panic swelling inside Gladio's chest, no stopping the images – each more disastrous than the previous one – running through his mind, no helping the rapidly increasing fear threatening to shred his heart apart.

The sound of a phone ringing brought all eyes in the room to Gladio, and even Cor reappeared in the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen. Trying to control his breathing, Gladio retrieved his phone from his jeans pocket – fumbling when his sweaty fingers slid across the plastic case – and begged, prayed to see Prompto's name on the screen.

When his shoulders slumped in disappointment, the mood in the room dropped down as well. ”Dad,” Gladio murmured, thumbing at the green slider bar before pressing the phone to his hear. ”Dad?”

A moment of pause. Gladio closed his eyes, praying, telling himself that one hour added to a day-long drive was nothing, that it was entirely possible Prompto or the driver had felt the need to stop for a longer rest somewhere, that he and the others were all panicking for nothing – but then Clarus spoke up and Gladio knew things were just as bad as he'd feared.

”Gladio,” he sighed. ”Has Prompto been in any contact with any of you since our last call?”

Some fifteen, twenty minutes had passed after Gladio had finally given in to his anxiety and contacted his father over the matter. ”No.”

A heavy sigh rustled irritably in his hear, causing him to flinch. ”If Dr. Leonis is still there, please put me on speaker.”

Gladio did as told and lowered his hand to waist-level. ”Done,” he whispered. He couldn't look at the others.

”I've been in contact with the chauffeuring company,” Clarus began to explain, a heavy weight in his voice. ”They were unable to reach Prompto's driver, but the GPS tracker in the car posits it at the canyon. It... has been standing still for roughly seven hours now.”

The canyon. Gladio's eyes slipped shut as a moan caught itself in his throat. The canyon.

”How... accurate the GPS reading is?” Ignis asked tentatively. Exhaling slowly, Gladio opened his eyes to see Ignis and Noctis holding onto each other's hands, their knuckles white as their faces. At the edge of the room, Cor was gripping the doorframe hard enough his entire arm shook.

”Maybe he just wanted to take some shots of the thing,” Gladio spoke up suddenly, unable to hold back the words he himself knew foolish. Even if they had stopped at the canyon for an impromptu photoshoot, it wouldn't have lasted for seven hours.

There were no hotels, camping sites, or diners in the immediate vicinity of the Canyon Bridge; not where Prompto's route would have led him to. The dry grasslands and deserts were too arid to house more than a handful of people spread across them, and as much as Gladio wanted to believe that Prompto and the driver had simply paused for whatever reason, he knew there was no point in entertaining such delusions.

”The car is in the immediate vicinity of the bridge they were to cross.” Gladio wondered if the others could hear the disheartenment in Clarus' voice as well as he did. ”We've alerted the nearest border patrol units, but it will be another hour before they reach the location.”

A full hour felt like a second eternity piled atop the one they had already passed. Gladio thought of the concrete blockades next to the bridge and how they were supposed to stop cars from accidentally veering off of the road and into the canyon. The bridge itself was as secure as a bridge could ever hope to be, but the blockades on both sides of it did not run for forever. So close to the canyon, the sand wouldn't be too soft for driving, either.

Gladio swallowed. His head spun not just with thoughts but dizziness as well, and he had to widen his stance in fear or stumbling down otherwise. Seven hours was simply too long a time for a stop, especially without any other contact despite the fact that there would have been at least two phones and a car radio in the car, and try as he might, Gladio couldn't think of any other outcomes other than the one he most wanted to ignore.

Regardless of the make of the car, the canyon was so deep there was no surviving a fall into it.

It took Gladio a moment to realize Clarus was speaking.

”–sent a car to bring you all over to the Citadel,” he said. ”If there are any news in the meanwhile, I'll keep you updated on them. Gladio, would you please hand the phone over to Dr. Leonis?”

Brain filled with too many spinning thoughts and the unbeatable certainty that he'd lost his true mate before even getting the chance to be with him, Gladio stood rooted to the spot until he saw Cor move further into the room. Shaking his head, he held out his hand until the older man took the phone.

Cor left. Gladio remained where he was standing on what either was or wasn't a real Galahdian rug and stared straight ahead at the bookshelves behind Ignis and Noctis' heads. Cor's footsteps were already light and dim in his ears until they disappeared completely, as did the hum of cars passing by on the street outside, and even the edges of his vision seemed to darken the longer he stayed unmoving, unthinking. The room was light and airy, the bookshelves arranged with minute precision and each surface clear of dust, and Gladio was almost able to lose himself in studying the space, in wondering if Cor Leonis had a secret talent for interior design or if he'd simply hired someone to fill the townhouse with shades of cream and brown so dark it might have been black instead–

–almost. In the kitchen, a lemon cake with fresh blueberries and sweet vanilla frosting. On the sitting room table, a stack of presents, a bouquet of flowers soon to wilt in its plastic wrappings; far behind Gladio's back, strung from the stairwall next to the entrance, a string of sparkling letters to welcome Prompto home.

A hand on Gladio's elbow tore a growl from him. He twisted away knowing the swing of his arm had connected, but that it was Noctis – his charge, his liege, his life – at the end of his rage only brought him further down the spiral, and within seconds, the growl turned into silent sobs and teeth threatening to bite through his lower lip.

* * *

Cor could recount the times he'd been in the formal office of the King's Shield with three of his fingers. First, to be promoted directly into King Mors' personal guard; then to be loaned over to then-prince Regis; and then at last, mere two weeks after the second time, to be discharged for lying about his age. He'd been barely out of his first heat that day, still too exhausted and scent-drunk to properly function, and so, without noticing or understanding, he'd signed first the papers of his dismissal and then those to grant him an education to reimburse him for the childhood the Crown had apparently stolen from him.

His fourth time in the rooms would be the worst of all, regardless of how the day went down. He was alone; the boys were nearby, in the King's office or elsewhere. Cor hadn't wanted to wait with them – hadn't felt it necessary to come over to the Citadel in the first place – and so he'd been led here, into the room where his career had ended before it should have even started.

Fingers drumming against his knee, Cor sat in one of the plush armchairs – not the ones from his memories, but opulent and similarly blue all the same – and waited. He'd been waiting for hours, first thinking nothing wrong, then slowly growing impatient, concerned, outright scared; and only then had Clarus called, when Cor had already shredded himself apart trying to contact Prompto, the driver, the chauffeuring company, any single person he might have thought helpful. Nothing had come of the calls even in the cases where he'd actually gotten through to someone, but he'd _known_ when the hours-long silence stretched into additional waiting time that something had been wrong.

The waiting was the hard part; the lack of knowledge. As much as he prayed for a happy ending, a miscommunication they could one day laugh at, he knew it in his bones it wasn't the case. Cor had been riding a wave of determined pragmatism ever since the dawning panic in his blood had cleared enough for him to make sense of it, but forcing himself to remain hopeless while waiting had not come without a cost.

Cor had patience in spades, but when he also had the very possible reality of a dead son at his hands, his patience meant precious little.

When Clarus re-entered the room, his expression was grim. Cor stood up slowly, then sat down once more when he saw Clarus take the armchair opposite of him. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he leaned into the plush cushions, as he tried to breathe through it all, but then Clarus – now seated with his elbows on his knees and his head hanging low – looked up, expression grim and dark, and Cor nearly lost it right then and there.

”Tell me,” he murmured, tried to order, ”tell me–”

”Kidnapping.”

Cor was not used to being stunned speechless, but to be fair, he was also not used to feeling as his entire chest was about to split down the middle. The time he spent staring at Clarus felt like an eternity, but even after a minute, questioning shake of his head and a repeat of Clarus' earlier declaration, he could hardly believe what he was hearing.

Then–

”What?” Cor spat out, lurching forward in his chair. Clarus, in response, leaned into his own seat. ”What do you mean he's been–”

He couldn't even finish the words. Fingers trembling on the armrests of his chair, Cor swallowed and tried to focus on his breathing as Clarus began to explain.

”They found the car on the road still,” he started, tipping his chin slightly, ”on Tenebrae's side of the canyon. It's – the driver is dead, but Prompto is gone. There were some slight signs of a struggle where he appears to have sat, but nothing to suggest an injury of any kind. It – it is unlikely that any of the blood in the car would be his.”

It was difficult to think of the implications when Cor felt as if all the blood in his veins had vacated his body. He could hardly think from the terror speeding up his heartrate. ”And,” he managed to ask, however, tongue thick and heavy as coated in lead, ”what exactly – does it mean? What happens next?”

He'd been a military man, once, for however short a time it had lasted; he worked primarily with law enforcement, others broken by war and battle, the others crying over the daily horrors of their working lives; whatever was wrong in the world, Cor had heard of it, and he'd thought himself someone capable of facing all the world's atrocities with pragmaticism and a level head – and yet.

”We have people searching for him, of course,” Clarus replied with a nod of his head, ”the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive are co-operating, and Tenebrae has already offered their full support, seeing as it all took place within their borders. Nifflheim is amping up border patrol, and both Galahd and Accordo are also on the watch, just in case the kid–”

”And Prompto?”

Clarus swallowed the last syllables with a visible bob of his throat. His scent hung heavy in the air, thick and almost cloying – whether purposeful of not, he'd started putting out hormones as soon as he'd walked into the room. On an ordinary day, Cor wouldn't have hesitated to chew him out for it, but not today. Not when his son was missing. Not when he couldn't even consider wasting a second of precious time on something as unimportant as an alpha crossing his lines.

A heavy, weary sigh preceded Clarus' answer. ”We're looking for him,” he replied, holding onto Cor's gaze with sincere if hardened eyes, ”we're looking for him, and we will do all in our might to bring him home.”

It was just about the emptiest promise Cor had ever heard – which, considering the fact that he'd seen more than a few of his clients fall to addiction at an attempt of staving off the breakdown, was not a comparison he wanted to be making in this moment. That Clarus Amicitia, the King's Shield, the head of Lucian military forces and a member of the King's Council, clearly lacked faith in the completion of his own promise was far beyond telling.

”Why was he taken?” Cor asked, finally giving in to the thought that had been nagging at the back of his head at least since he'd heard the word 'kidnapping' first leave Clarus' mouth. ”Do you know yet? Why is he gone?”

Prompto was hardly a random person; hadn't been since he befriended the prince of all people, since the commission to paint a coronation portrait, since the newspapers learned he was true mates with the Shield of the Crown Prince of Lucis... That it was Prompto, out of all the people in the world, could not be a coincidence, and Cor, who had already loathed the Crown for two dozen different issues, was enraged.

”It's too early to say–” Clarus cut himself off abruptly and shook his head, sighing. ”There's been no ransom note yet, no calls.”

”And when they come?” _If_ they came, the traitorous voice at the back of his head reminded him. ”And when they ask for–”

”Then we'll deal with it as it comes,” Clarus spoke over him, each word forceful enough to silence stronger men, but not Cor. Never Cor. ”For now, our priority is in finding him–”

”If there's one hair missing from his head,” Cor spat out, standing up to his full height. Clarus mirrored his move but remained impassive and hard-faced, refusing to give in to the bait. ”If there's one hair missing from his head, I swear to all Astrals above I'll _end_ this country–”

”I'm sure you will.” Clarus held his gaze a moment later, then sighed and stepped away, yet Cor did not feel victorious at all. ”I'll keep you up to date with everything – as soon as we have news, you'll hear them as well.”

Swallowing the rest of the anger threatening to spill from his lungs, Cor forced his head into a nod. His fingers dug into the flesh of his palms hard enough to sting. ”I will have him back,” he said. Clarus neither smiled nor said a word.

* * *

It was a restless night and an ashen lunch later that a young man in a Crownsguard uniform all but ran into the bedroom Cor had been loaned for the night. The sounds of rushed knocks and a door opening before his permission were enough to signal to him something had happened, but when he looked up, heart skipping beats often enough to be entirely silent, he saw the man looking anything but harried.

”They've found him,” the Crownsguard gasped, ”Lord Amicitia received a call just now, he's–”

”Is he–”

”He's alive, and Lord Amicitia did not appear significantly concerned, but I am not privy to the details so if you would please follow me, Dr. Leonis Sir–”

He'd never remember the walk to Clarus' formal office. It passed by in a hasty blur of dark corridors and bright windows, of people ducking out of their way and others staring after them. Cor didn't care, and instead hurried through the Citadel. He burst into Clarus' office panting for breath – for reasons not all related to the sudden bout of excercise – and ready to cry.

Clarus was tapping away at a phone but looked up at the sound of Cor's entry. The King and Marshal Elshett were both in the room as well, but Cor had no attention left to pay them. ”He's okay,” Clarus smiled at him before he got the chance to ask, ”I'll fill you in with the details in private, but he's okay. The Glaives found him a moment ago and are on their way back, though they won't make it here till very late at night, possibly after midnight if they need to stop for whatever reason.”

Cor barely had the time to take in the words before the door opened once more and Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio all came barreling through it. Clarus sighed, a small smile on his face, and handed his phone over to Cor.

”Here.”

On the screen was a picture of Prompto. Cor's heart was still doing its best to jump straight out of his throat, but the sight of his son sleeping in the backseat of a car did little to ease his distress. The picture wasn't the best one, as Prompto was curled around a pillow that covered nearly half of his face as well, but while he appeared dishevelled, Cor couldn't see any suggestions of an injury on his self – which, of course, meant very little – yet – yet – Cor stared at the contours of Prompto's face, the shadows under his eyes and the red swelling on his cheeks, and realized he really should have tried to eat more of the lunch.

Too busy examining the photograph for any signs of something worse, Cor paid little attention to the conversation passing around him. He heard worried voices, frantic questions, relieved gasps and sighs – but ignored them until he was ready to return the phone to Clarus. He knew enough of human stress to explain the hollowness in his chest, but Astrals if that knowledge helped him any.

Clarus took the phone from him and Cor, still thinking of Prompto, turned to look at the others. The King had a hand on Noctis' shoulder, and Noctis is turn was holding onto Gladio's elbow. Ignis stood a little to the side, just as harried as the others, and even further away, Elshett waited with her arms crossed over her chest.

Cor missed the entirety of the conversation, but he both saw the changes in Gladio's expression and noticed the sudden burst of scent. He barely had the time to decipher what he saw – shoulders slumped in exhausted relief, a white face turning red and stiff with tears – before the young alpha turned around on his heels and stormed out of the office.

”Gladio!” Ignis called after him, but it was too late; he was gone. Noctis hesitated for a second before running after him, an apologetic expression on his pale face. Cor watched them leave.

He knew how people reacted to sudden things. He'd seen it all, had appraised it all; he had given some people permission to feel while teaching others to ignore their emotions, had learned and lectured and studied everything pertaining to human feelings and actions. He knew how people reacted to things, yet – as he watched the door swing shut at Noctis' heels, he nevetheless felt little else but rage.

* * *

Gladio didn't even know where he was headed, only that he needed to find a place where he could quiet down; whether that translated into crying out his heart or screaming away the stress of the past day, he couldn't say. The night had been long as a decade, dark and full of grief, and it was difficult to accept that it had only been just around one day since the start of the nightmare. Almost hysteric in the tangle of his overflowing emotions, Gladio thought of the cake they had shoved into Cor's fridge and how it would be edible still.

His brisk march through the corridors was enough to abate the worst of his anger-grief-stress-who-knew-what, but still he felt the need to hide himself in a small lounge he knew went largely unused. He'd noticed Noctis trailing after him a short distance away, but now that the anger had turned into exhausted relief, Gladio was thankful for the space.

He slumped down on one of the plush sofas arranged in the room, his head falling against the clammy skin of his palms. When Noctis entered the room some long, painful minutes later, Gladio remained in the same position.

”Hey,” Noctis murmured, hovering in the doorway instead of coming in. ”Mind if I...?”

Gladio shook his head, then murmured his permission. He felt the cushion dip when Noctis sat down, then, seconds later, noticed the warmth of another body sitting right by his side. Still holding onto his face, Gladio released a stuttery breath. He didn't know what to feel or think.

The silence between them stretched until it grew awkward. Gladio could feel and hear Noctis hesitating, trying to speak up but failing at the first utterance if he even made it so far; a feeling he knew too damn well. It all felt too unreal, still; less than a hour earlier, he'd feared Prompto lost forever, and now he was supposed to believe his mate was on his way home, for good this time.

It was a small, small blessing, when Gladio had already spent an eternity waiting for Prompto's previous wounds to heal.

”I was so damn scared.”

Noctis' confession, when it reached Gladio's ears, was quiet enough to choke. Gladio harrumphed, suddenly stuck in the loop between crying and laughing, and pressed his thumbs against the inner corners of his eyes to stave off the teardrops he could feel gathering there.

”No fucking kidding.” Confident his eyes would remain dry, Gladio lowered his hands until they only covered his mouth and tried to blink the stars from his vision. ”I'm–”

He couldn't finish his words; he had nothing to say. Now that he knew Prompto was securely on his way to Insomnia, he was supposed to feel relief and joy and all things good, but instead he had a new worry gnawing away at his heart, a sensation he could neither ignore nor deny. The relief was there, had spiked as soon as the news had been revealed to him, but under it – a fear, a hopelessness, a dark shadow far from unfamiliar.

Next to him, Noctis made an inquisive sound but didn't speak up. His fingers were light but warm on Gladio's shoulder, and Gladio kept on staring at the ornate designs on the rug beneath their feet until he could no longer hold his tongue.

”You''ll be there for him, yeah?”

He regretted the words as soon as he thought of them, yet he spoke them all the same. Mixed in with the regret was some perverse kind of a self-satisfaction telling him he'd done the right thing, trying to make sure that Prompto would have someone to tide him over the worst of his hurt, whatever that hurt was, but still – regret, and now a hurt of his own.

He both felt and saw Noctis pull away from him. ”What the fuck?” Noctis asked, visibly startled and bewildered. ”What – what do you even mean?”

Gladio sucked on his teeth. Where the hurt had been born, anger was not rising. ”You'll be there for him, right?” he repeated, more forceful this time. ”When he gets here. You'll be there for him?”

Noctis shook his head in confusion. ”Well, yeah, but – why the fuck are you talking like you wouldn't be there?” He pushed at Gladio's shoulder, tried to make Gladio face him, but Gladio wouldn't let him. ”What the fuck, dude?”

Gladio shook the hand away, then grunted when it slammed into his upper arm with little gentless. Growling, he lurched up from the seat and paces across the carpet, then spun around with a loud groan as his fingers dug into his hair.

”He won't want to see me!” he shouted, arms waving around wildly. ”He won't want to fucking see me if he's hurt at all, and I don't want him to be alone! So you'd better fucking–”

”What the fuck!” Noctis stood up, nostrils flaring and a deep flush rising on his face. Gladio growled at the sight, angry at the world and at Prompto and at himself for tearing up. ”What the fucking fuck, Gladio, what do you even mean–”

”He doesn't want to be weak before me!”

This time, his shout silenced Noctis, if for just one moment. Then, Noctis laughed, head tossed back a fraction and his mouth twisted into a humorless grin as choppy cackles escaped his throat. Gladio blinked furiously and tried to chase away the tears stinging at his eyes.

”What is that even supposed to mean,” Noctis pleaded after the shocked laughter petered out. He stepped forward, all signs of anger gone from his stance, but Gladio backed away all the same. ”C'mon, Gladio, you can't be serious, can you?”

Gladio didn't sniffle. He sucked in the liquid coating the insides of his nostrils but did not sniffle.

”He's not gonna want to see me till he's not hurt,” he said, voice cracking over the words. All tension left his body. ”He's not – he won't want me around if he's hurt but he won't mind it if it's you, so. You gotta.”

Noctis was silent for a long, long while, which Gladio spent trying to surpress each and every feeling in his body. It didn't go too well for him, which he'd more or less accepted already.

”Fine,” Noctis sighed, almost spitting out the word. He ran a hand up his face and into his messy hair. ”Fine. Listen – I was texting your dad a bit in the hallway, and he says the Glaives think Prom's about to enter a stress heat. So if he wants me there I'll stick with him, but the second he's out of it and rested enough to hold a conversation, you're gonna be there for him, okay? I don't care if I have to literally lock you in a room together, you're gonna be there for him.”

Gladio held onto his breath, nodded, and agreed knowing he was most likely lying.


	14. Chapter 12

At approximately ten in the morning, Nyx gave his squad the order to approach the old hunting lodge they had circled and appraised mere minutes before. They were in a sparse pine forest somewhere near the Nifflheim border, several hours away from the canyon bridge where Argentum had been taken from, yet close enough Nyx had little hope of finding someone in the hut. There'd been no signs of movements anywhere in the building since the first of his men had found the place; this in spite of the fact that all curtains were drawn wide open.

There were two doors on the ground floor and one balcony higher up the back of the house, likely showing off a panorama of the green woods in which Nyx and his squad were hiding. When he gave the order, two blue flashes shot across the sky and onto the balcony, and Nyx himself led Pelna and Crowe to the front of the door.

The hallway was empty, and across it, Nyx saw Tredd and Luche storm through the other door. From upstairs, he could hear the rest of his team, but little else. ”See anyone yet?” he asked, grimacing when the answers – some spoken over the radio, others by his side – overlapped and grew distorted. He had the time to glimpse a pair of feet in Kingsglaive garb appearing on top of the staircase before he turned towards the kitchen, at which point he nearly froze dead on his tracks.

Only his training kept him moving forward. Pelna and Crowe at his heels, he moved into the kitchen-dining, checking the corners by the doorway before stepping across the lenght of the room to kneel by the cot in which Argentum lay. There was one more door in the room, towards which he nodded, but as shouts of ”all clear” rang through the house, Nyx focused his attention on the blond omega.

”Hey there, kid,” he cooed, carefully patting Argentum's cheek. The man was unconscious and somewhat dishevelled, but didn't appear to be sporting a single injury as far as Nyx could see. ”Argentum? Prompto, can you wake up for me?”

To his left, Crowe re-entered the room. ”Bathroom, no exits,” she spoke. ”He okay?”

”Unconscious,” Nyx replied. He glanced at Pelna, who was examining the items scattered on the kitchen counter. ”Pelna, can you call us in?”

He received a distracted murmur in reply, and with a little shrug, turned back to Argentum. The blond was beginning to stir, his facial muscles twitching as Nyx patted around his torso to feel for anything amiss under the clothes he wore. Soon enough, dark eyes blinked up at him, slow and unfocused, squinting against the light. A small sound, a moan or a question, but the eyes remained unseeing.

Biting back a curse, Nyx pressed his fingertips into the soft skin around Argentum's left eye and carefully pulled the lids open. ”Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, then repeated the treatment on the other eye even as the other began to struggle. Both pupils were wide enough to cover nearly all of the blue he'd seen on the pictures handed out to all search parties. ”Looks like he's been drugged,” Nyx called over his shoulder. ”Look for–”

The rattle of a plastic pill bottle cut him off. Nyx blinked at Pelna, who was holding a medium-size container in one hand. ”Niff sedatives,” he said with a grimace Nyx mirrored as soon as he glimpsed the orange banner stuck on the side of the bottle. ”If he's waking up, it's been a few hours already.”

One hand on Argentum's shoulder and the other on his stomach, Nyx paused to think. ”It doesn't look like he's injured,” he spoke after a while, receiving nods from everyone who had gathered in the room. ”Lib and I should get started on taking him back to Insomnia. Any signs of anyone in the house?”

Luche shook his head. ”Some food wrappers strewn around, no people.” He shrugged. ”If I heard Pelna correct, it sounds like they've been gone for a while. Don't know why they left the kid, but they definitely didn't leave in a hurry, so...”

Nyx really didn't know what was going on. He heard Argentum try to mumble something but couldn't make sense of the words, nor did he think the kid conscious awake to have anything to share, so with a sigh he stood up from his crouch and glanced around the kitchen. Argentum wasn't injured, but there was a scent in the air – a kind of a corruption Nyx had only ever scented twice or thrice in his lifetime, but which was nevertheless familiar enough to set an uncomfortable weight in his guts. As a beta, he had little knowledge on stress heats, but the little he knew was enough to tell him that the sooner they got Argentum someplace the kid could try and relax in, the better it would be.

”I'll scout ahead,” Crowe said, tipping her head back towards the kitchen doorway. ”Tredd, with me?”

Tredd nodded. ”Someone should stay and search this place.”

”You guys do that,” Nyx agreed. ”Like I said, Lib and I will take the kid–” they were both betas, and the briefing on Argentum had explicitly mentioned a very possible aversion to alphas if injured or stressed in any way ”–and we'll need two of you to escort us to the car, but yeah – do what you can, collaborate with the other team. Just stay safe.”

And just like that, the matter was dealt with. Minutes later Nyx hoisted Argentum into his arms – the kid light enough to be carried with ease, drowsy enough that even though his eyes were wide open, he barely fought at all – and walked out of the cabin. The car was almost too far away, but they made it over without any misshaps all the same, Nyx carrying Argentum while Libertus and two others flanked them. They'd parked the car as close as they'd dared and then hidden it under camo nets and a handful of snapped tree branches. While the others began cleaning up and setting the car ready for the trip back, Nyx knelt down on the forest floor and propped Argentum against his shoulder.

”Muh?”

It was Argentum's clearest, most defined attempt at words, though Nyx still couldn't call him conscious at all; he was holding onto the sleeve of Nyx' uniform jacket, absentmindedly rubbing the rough material with his fingertips that occasionally caught a button. Something truly uncomfortable spread in Nyx' guts at the sight of the blond man, the vacate haziness in his eyes and the slack softness of his mouth. Argentum was as good as a stranger – he'd met the kid a couple times when he'd been an actual kid, a friend of the prince's, and knew who he was to the prince's Shield – but the defenselessness combined with the approaching stress heat made Nyx' skin crawl.

”Alright, kid, looks like our ride's ready,” he murmured when he saw the guys had finished with the car. ”Time to get going, bud.”

With a little help from Libertus, Nyx hoisted Argentum back up. By now, the kid was alert enough that with Nyx and Libertus both holding him up, he was able to hobble in the direction they took him to, though it was still obvious that without the support, he'd have been on his face on the dirt already. They'd taken the medicine container with them just in case the contents differed from the label, though what Nyx knew about illicit Niff pre-peace drugs still on market all agreed with the consensus that it really just was the sedatives keeping Argentum nice and docile.

There were implications there, ones Nyx had considered and then dismissed for someone else to take care of. Argentum had no injuries, as far as he could tell, and though the calm in his scent was clearly artificial and clouded by medicine, there was not a single hint of anything more anywhere on him, and Nyx – whose job was simply the recovery and nothing else – allowed himself a disquieted ease.

Just a few steps in, Libertus let go of Argentum. ”I'll get the door,” he murmured. Nyx nodded and took a sturdied hold of the omega slumped against his side.

In hindsight, they probably should've seen it coming, but they didn't. Once Libertus had tugged the door open, Nyx began to walk Argentum towards the car, which – of course – had to be the moment the drugged-up braincells sloshing about the kid's cranium decided it was time to wake up and recognize the outside the world. Once it happened, both the reaction and the trigger were so obvious Nyx had no excuse for not considering the possibility of Argentum having developed a sudden and an acute aversion towards cars.

”Aww, shit,” Nyx hissed when the kid began to struggle. Too drugged to fight, Argentum squirmed and whined against Nyx' hold, but in the end, there was little either of them could do: the car ride was inevitable. ”Hey, hey, it's okay, kid, I promise it's all okay now...”

Together with Libertus, they succeeded at manhandling Argentum into the back of the car with only a little struggle. Though the kid was clearly doing his best to squirm out of Nyx' hold, it also clear that his best simply wasn't anywhere near enough. When they closed the door – carefully making sure there were no legs or fingers stuck between the gap – Nyx thought he could hear a little mewl of despair and betrayal, but once the door was closed and locked tight, the figure behind the tinted windows stopped moving.

Holding onto his breath, Nyx shared a look with Libertus. ”That's that, then,” he exhaled, shaking his head. Libertus shrugged with a grimace and walked up to the driver's door.

”Didn't think we'd actually find him there,” he said, both palms flat on the car. Nyx nodded; he'd been thinking the same ever since he first walked into the kitchen. ”I mean, it's better like this, but...”

”But it's not right.” Nyx glanced at Argentum through the thick glass windows. ”I've no idea why they'd leave him like – well, I do have ideas, but not any I'd like to consider.”

Libertus laughed at that, but it was entirely without humor. ”Good thing that's not on us, not anymore,” he said, cracking open the door. ”We really should hit the road, though. It'll be hours of driving before we're anywhere near Lucis, and the prince–”

”It's not the prince I'm thinking of,” Nyx cut in, ”or even Gladio – Ramuh's beard, no, _we've got Cor Leonis' son in the car_ –”

”–which is why I think we really ought to get that move on–”

”–which means he's gonna be meeting us as soon as we arrive, so _yes_ , let's get the hell outta here.”

Inside the car, Argentum sat half-slumped, half-curled against the door, eyes once again hazy and unfocused. The enclosed space heightened his scent, both the bitterness of an approaching stress heat and the dullness of what Nyx assumed was Argentum's natural scent disappearing under the new wave of distress that had appeared once the kid spotted the car. Nyx sighed and reached over to buckle the seatbelt.

”We're taking you home, you hear that, kid?” he chatted, trying to sound amiable and casual despite the scene they were on their way to escaping. ”You've got lots of people waiting for you – your dad, the prince, your mate... Hell, I think the entire Citadel is ready to welcome you home.”

Argentum blinked at him, twisted feebly against the seatbelt now holding him down, and attempted a word Nyx could not decipher. The car engine purred its way into life and seconds later, they were rolling down the dirt path at a snail's pace, Nyx and Libertus both watching the outside world whenever they had the extra second to spare from their other tasks.

”The plan was to let you chat with your dad as soon as we got out in the clear,” Nyx continued, now reaching for the two vacuum-sealed packages Ignis Scientia had hastily tossed their way before they'd had the chance to leave the Citadel, ”but it doesn't look like you're gonna be awake enough for that, huh, buddy? But don't worry, he's gonna be there waiting for you. It's all fine.”

The packages were an emergency plan: one pillow grabbed from the prince's bed, and a jacket that smelled like flowers and alpha musk. The olfactory sense was a strong one even on a normal day, but for a distressed person of any gender, it could transform into a lifeline. As soon as Nyx opened the bag containing the pillow, a hint of lightning-like dust wafted out of it, and Argentum responded with a hazy whine.

”That's right,” Nyx spoke, smiling. He held the pillow out just to see if the kid actually wanted it, then carefully nudged it between his head and the window. ”Your best friend's looking out for you!”

It was a little over the top, perhaps, but he was running out of comforting words. Nyx heard Libertus snort but paid him little attention, instead focusing on opening the second bag while Argentum rubbed his face against the pillow. The jacket was large, clearly meant for cool spring days rather than the blazing heat of the summer – where Ignis had pulled it from, Nyx really couldn't say – but as soon as he held it up like a blanket, waiting for Argentum's reaction, the entire car was filled with Gladio's scent.

Argentum turned his head, clearly scenting the air, and with a small smile, Nyx laid the jacket over his body.

He resolutely did not think of the texts he'd need to send as soon as they were out of the woods.

* * *

Though Noctis received the word as soon as Prompto was brought to the Citadel, it wasn't till well in the following afternoon that he was allowed to meet his best friend. He'd done his best to keep up with any bits and pieces of news passing through the grapevine, frantically trying to make sense of the calm declarations and explanations sent his way. Prompto was okay, apparently, not injured in any way whatsoever – it sounded fake, but not even the Glaives Noctis had hunted down had been able to offer him anything more, and so he'd resigned himself to a frantic sense of hope.

Gladio was a mess, had been ever since they'd all began to wonder if something had happened, but it was only after the call from the Glaive's who had found Prompto that he'd truly lost. Noctis couldn't think of the discussion they'd had after the call without wanting to cleave his brain in halves out of the frustrated rage building in his chest. Seeing Gladio stalk the corridors outside Prompto's hospital room, ducking out of sight whenever someone else approached, only intensified the feeling.

When Noctis entered the medical wing following the invitation from the staff managing Prompto, he found Cor and a nurse speaking in hushed tones just outside what he assumed was Prompto's door. They both glanced over, nodded, then conversed another few words before seemingly coming to a halt – Noctis, who was panting for breath after his mad dash across the Citadel, allowed them.

The nurse left and Cor turned to him. ”Your Highness,” he said, waiting for Noctis to advance.

”Dr. Leonis.” Up close, Noctis could see just how old and harried the man looked, dark lines surrounding his eyes and making the wrinkles appear even more pronounced. He thought of the first time he'd visited Prompto and how terrified he'd been of actually meeting the infamous Dr. Leonis, but also how concerned he'd been for his long-lost friend's wellbeing. ”How is he?”

Cor shook his head, fingered his temples. ”He's okay,” he sighed just as Noctis' stomach began its plummet, ”he's – he's about to start a stress heat, and they gave him some sedatives before that, so he's a bit loopy and out of it. But he's okay.”

Noctis nodded even though he felt like choking. Cor didn't just look old, he smelled it as well – a waning, fading omega scent, all of sudden wooden enough to resemble composing earth. But behind Cor, Noctis could smell a bitterness that seemed to have permeated the entire section of the medical wing, caramel so dark he couldn't say if he'd ever faced it before, but also something almost toxic tainting it all.

”What of... the drugs?” he asked, worry gnawing at his guts even as his instincts all screamed at him to just get to Prompto already.

”The hard stuff, but not dangerous,” Cor replied. His eyes rolled towards the ceiling as he shook his head. ”Right now, we'll just have to wait for him to come out of it – the sedatives and the heat both.”

Noctis ignored the familiar scent of flowers wafting in from outside the hallway. ”Are you taking him home, then?”

Cor shook his head before Noctis was done with the question. ”He's too stressed to be moved,” he said. A shadow of something passed across his face. ”That's why we called for you – he'll want something familiar nearby, and since Gladiolus apparently is not up for the task...”

A wince tugged at Noctis' face. ”He's–” he started, desperate to defend his friend even if he, too, disapproved of the way Gladio was pulling away from Prompto, ”he'll be there when Prompto says it's okay for him to be there.”

This time, Cor's eyeroll was much more pronounced than the one before. He harrumphed and recrossed his arms across his chest, looking anything but satisfied with Noctis' answer. The scent of flowers was already fading.

”He'll likely want to nest when he's a bit less loopy,” Cor continued. It took Noctis a moment to realize they'd returned to talking about Prompto. ”I need to head home for a few hours, so if you could hang around until then, that'd be great – just try to let him know he's home and everything is okay now. There's a nesting chamber in the room he's in, so if he'd rather move from the bed, help him get settled. He shouldn't be on his feet before the drugs are out of his system.”

Noctis nodded. ”I can do that.” He tried to squash the nagging voice at the back of his head suggesting they take Prompto to the currently unused nesting chambers in his personal rooms. ”I can – do that.”

Cor gave him a tired smile. ”You do that,” he murmured, reaching over to clap Noctis' shoulder. ”He's been drifting in and out of sleep for a while now. I'll have some of his things sent as soon as I get home, but it's just the company he needs. He'll be better when he's less disorientated.”

Noctis thought of the thirty-something hours Prompto had been missing for. ”Can I just – head in?” he asked, glancing at the door. Cor nodded. ”And he's – okay.”

All of sudden, Noctis felt like crying. His throat constricted around nothing and he blinked furiously, trying to chase the tears away before the dams broke completely. All the fear, the dread, the anxious waiting and praying and pleading seemed to be hitting him at once, and only the warm weigth of a hand being placed on his shoulder.

”Hey,” Cor said, smiling despite having the same emotions etched into the lines of his face, ”Noctis. It's okay. He's home now.”

And just like that, Noctis started sobbing.

* * *

The hospital bed had been shoved into the very corner of the room, where partitions consisting of metal frames and mint green curtains gave an illusion of privacy and safety. Noctis, after a moment of hesitating near the door, had eventually simply slumped down in the chair by the bed, eyes raking across Prompto's messy appearance even as the thick scents brewing in the room made him nauseous.

Like Cor had told him, Prompto kept on drifting in and out of fitful sleep, occasionally snorting himself awake for the time it took his gaze to reach Noctis, then falling back asleep once more. Some minutes into his stay, Noctis carefully reached for Prompto's hand.

The skin was blazing hot in Noctis' grasp – the heat building up, both fiercer than normal but also wrong in a way that tickled his nostrils and made him wish he could open the windows and air out the room. Prompto was wearing hospital scrubs under the blanket tossed haphazardly across his torso, but while he reeked of sweat – both old and new – there was neither dirt nor blood on any of the skin visible to Noctis.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Noctis fixed his hold around Prompto's fingers. His pillow and Gladio's jacket were both on the bed next to the slumbering omega, and when Prompto began to stir once more, there was no missing the way he leaned into the pillow while curling around the jacket.

By the time a pair of hazy, unfocused eyes had found Noctis, the prince had schooled a small smile on his face. ”Hey,” he cooed, squeezing at the fingers he was still holding onto. ”Wakey-wakey, Sleeping Beauty.”

It took a long while before Prompto reacted, but eventually a long groan drew from his lips. He pulled free from Noctis' hold in favor of planting his palms on his face, both arms wobbly enough that for a second, Noctis was worried he'd poke out an eye.

”Noct?”

”Yeah, buddy, I'm here.”

Another long pause. Prompto's arms fell from his face; Noctis could see his nostrils flaring as he scented the air, his face turning from away from the pillow, though he still held the jacket against his chest. ”Noct?” he murmured again, pale brows furrowing. The scent around them changed. ”Cor?”

Noctis reached for Prompto's arm. ”He's gone home to get you some of your stuff,” he hurried to explain, waiting for Prompto to nod before continuing: ”He's gonna send over some of your things so you can still nest if you want to.”

”He was here?”

”Yeah, buddy, he was.” Noctis did his best to sound reassuring. ”He had to leave for a while but he's gonna be back later today. Oh, we could probably call him if you need to?”

Prompto swallowed visibly, but the crank of his brain was just as obvious on his face, and so Noctis waited with patience lectured into his very bones. ”No,” Prompto spoke eventually, once again swallowing with enough force to make his throat bob, ”no, but – he _was_ here, yeah?”

Realizing Prompto was looking for confirmation rather than comfort, Noctis nodded, his smile widening. ”Yeah, sat right by your bedside, I think,” he grinned, ”it's just he had to leave for something.”

A series of rapid if minute nods was the only response. Prompto's hand crawled up his body to scratch at the base of his throat and a wild look appeared in his eyes alongside a dark shift in his scent, signaling distress even as he squirmed on the bed as if trying to disappear into the pillows and the jacket bundled up under his chest. Noctis watched him, worry rising just as swift as Prompto's panic had, and leaned forward in his chair to try and grasp Prompto's wrist.

”I don't know what's happening,” Prompto whispered, eyes wide and dark, the unnatural dilation of his irises visible for the first time, ”I don't–what's–”

”Hey, it's okay,” Noctis tried to hush. Deep heat radiated through the sweat-damp sleeve under his fingers, hot enough to scorch. ”It's okay, Prom, you're getting into a stress heat and you've got some drugs in you, but I promise it's all okay. It's the heat and the drugs, that's all.”

Prompto's cheeks blazed red and a feverish sheen was beginning to glaze over his eyes. Whimpering, he tossed around on the bed until he was able pull the jacket from where it was partially lodged under his body, then held it up against his chest and chin. When Noctis tried to bump his knuckles against Prompto's side, the other pulled away from him, another whimper lodged in his throat.

The whimper sounded suspiciously like Gladio's name. As soon as Noctis' ears cleared the sound, his heart plummeted. He saw tears squeezing out of Prompto's eyes to wet his lashes, saw the deepening flush and the glint of teeth sucking in a trembling lip, and felt the same weary sense of sadness he'd felt many a time over the years. Noctis thought back to the time he'd first spotted Prompto inside their high school gates, how small and sick he'd looked back then; he thought of the time they'd laid side-by-side on Prompto's bed, and how he'd listened to his best friend confess to self-harm before collapsing into a fit of some sort; he thought of all the times Prompto had needed his support, but also of all the times he'd been there for Gladio, and cursed the stars for the fates his friends had been forced to endure.

”...He's waiting for you to okay his presence,” Noctis murmured eventually, the side of his hand pressing against Prompto's heaving ribcage, ”because of the heat and the – he didn't want to take the chance you might've grown distressed because of him showing up. He's – outside, though, keeps on guarding the hallways. He wants to be there for you so, so much–”

He cut himself off when Prompto dissolved into despairing sobs that rocked his entire body. Noctis drew in a deep breath – the air sweet and bitter enough to make him want to throw up – but before he could continue, a giggle spilled from Prompto's lips. ”No, no, it's okay,” the blond stuttered between his cries, a desperate smile on his face, ”it's okay, I know I'm just–”

Noctis didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence. Instead, he stood up and got on the bed, laid down by his friend while trying to ignore the gaping maw his heart had disappeared into, and wrapped a loose arm around Prompto's waist.

”Your stuff should be here soon,” he murmured, pressing his body against the searing heat of Prompto's side, ”and we can get you to the nesting closet as soon as you're ready to stand up. The drugs will be gone soon and the heat will be over in a couple days, and then everything will be okay. I promise. _I promise_.”

Noctis didn't think for a second that Prompto believed him, yet his words were all he had to offer, and so they were all he did offer.

* * *

Eight days after Prompto was brought back to Insomnia, Clarus walked into the hospital room the boy – a young man for years now, but forever a child in his eyes – had been staying in. The staff had aired the room and replaced all the sheets, as was evident by the subtle smell of laundry detergent hanging in the air, and Prompto's hair was fluffy and shiny after a good wash-up, yet the scent of an old heat still lingered in the room. Prompto was seated on the edge of his bed, visibly exhausted and miserable, but not hurt.

No matter how many times Clarus heard the words repeated, he still struggled to believe them.

”Prompto,” he greeted the blond, offering a small smile before moving closer. ”I'm sorry to be bothering you, but...”

He'd only been able to offer vague details during the week he'd spent hiding in the nesting chamber, and combined with the little the Glaives had been able to scrounge up, it had been nowhere near enough to compile even the barest bones of the story that had taken place at the canyon bridge. Looking at the dark rings under Prompto's eyes, Clarus wished he could have offered him another few days of recovery, but unfortunately for both of them, time was a pressing matter.

Prompto shook his head before Clarus made it to the chair arranged near the bed. ”'S okay,” he murmured, cracking a nervous grin. ”Better get it over and done with, huh?”

The bravado was thin and ailing at best, yet Clarus said nothing as he took the seat. ”Do you mind if I record the conversation?” he asked, more out of courtecy than a need of permission; whether Prompto realized it or not, he couldn't say, but the kid shook his head with another smile all the same. ”Right.”

The way Prompto kicked his feet reminded Clarus of a literal child, and for a moment, he was taken aback by how strongly he felt for the young man. All the shit he'd been through in his life, and now this – misery and suffering without a reprieve, and to make things worse, the vast majority of it all caused by outside forces.

”Well.” Clarus cleared his throat when he realized Prompto was waiting for him to get started. ”I suppose we'll just go through the whole matter starting from the beginning, if that is alright with you?”

Prompto nodded, a little sheepish but in no way reluctant. ”Yeah,” he murmured, his nerves beginning to show, ”yeah, that's – that's okay.”

Smiling softly, Clarus started the recorder on his phone. ”Just say the word and we'll stop,” he spoke while setting the phone aside, ”it's been a very horrible week and a half for you.”

It was the understatement of the year. Prompto shrugged, looked away, clutched at the metal rails forming the bed frame with white knucles. ”Yeah, well,” he chuckled, ”that's. Not a lie.”

Clarus eyed him for a moment before speaking up. ”So what happened, exactly? Everything was fine when you last contacted Cor, but after that...?”

Prompto's eyes focused on the distance. He was silent for a moment, but then he drew in a deep breath and began speaking. ”Yeah, it was – it was all fine,” he murmured, a tongue coming out to lick at his lips. ”It was – normal, till the canyon.”

He paused, violet eyes zeroing back on Clarus, who nodded encouragingly. ”What happened there?”

They had the data collected at the crime scene, of course, and then again the cabin in the woods, but little else beyond that. The car told of an attack on a vehicle standing still at the moment of impact, the cabin of a hiding hole equipped with a week's worth of instant meals and toilet paper. They had nothing on possible suspects, on possible motives – just two scenes and Prompto.

”They, um,” the kid started, nervous – or scared – enough to vibrate on the bed. ”At first, it looked like there was something wrong with someone's car – there were two guys there, and they stopped us? I thought they were going to ask for help, but...”

He trailed off, almost helpless in the desperate tones he was falling into, and Clarus felt his heart ache. ”Did you see their faces?” he asked instead, forcing himself to remain calm. Prompto inhaled loudly.

”The first guy, yeah,” he murmured, ”the only one of them I saw without the masks. He was – tall, and lanky, kind of like Ignis, but I think his hair was dark and curly, not really long but not short either?”

The questioning tone was not a promising one, but Clarus nodded nevertheless. If the others had been masked, then he doubted the ones walking around bare-faced had done so without something to hide their true identity, but he said nothing of it, instead prompting the kid further into the story.

”And after they'd stopped the car?” he asked, despite having a guess he was sure would probe to be true. ”What happened then?”

Prompto hesitated, again. ”The driver–”

”Is dead,” Clarus was forced to confirm. ”It was instant. He felt nothing.”

The silence that followed was long and full of hurt, but they were in no actual hurry, and so Clarus saw no need to rush Prompto on. Instead he waited, calm and patient as he'd been taught to be, until the kid began to speak once more.

”The windows came in.” His voice was whisper-thin and full of ghosts. ”It – it was a little confusing, I don't really remember it too well, but they dragged me out of the car next.”

Clarus hummed a low tone. ”Did they hurt you?” he asked. ”At all? The medical staff reported no injuries, yet–”

Prompto had started shaking his head long before Clarus was finished with the furst question. ”No, no,” he was fast to say, ”not at all. Or, well, when they pulled me out of the car, I guess they weren't too gentle on me then, heh, but they didn't really – nothing other than that.”

Clarus mulled over the words for a moment. ”So you were completely uninjured?”

A sudden flush rising on his face, Prompto nodded, then shook his head. ”I broke my ankle,” he murmured, more embarrassed than nervous. Clarus quirked an eyebrow. ”When they – one of them grabbed me from behind, so my back was against his chest, yeah? And he pulled me out, and another one tried to go for me legs, but I – I kicked out, at his dick. And broke my ankle. On his dick.”

The silence Clarus was tossed into was not one of pride, but of horror. ”That was–” he began, at loss for words as he was unwilling to actually chastise the blond, yet feeling the need to comment on the matter all the same. ”That was – very dangerous of you, Prompto. It could have ended very badly.”

Prompto shrunk into himself – like a defiant child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Clarus realized. ”I know that,” he mumbled, all too petulant, ”I know, but – I was scared, and–”

And just like that, tears appeared in his eyes. Clarus felt his heart melt into a pile of protective goo, and he had to actively resist the urge to move over to comfort the quietly sniffling blond. Instead, he sighed, quiet and slow, and resigned himself for another moment of waiting. It didn't take long before Prompto took a stuttery breath and tilted his face towards the ceiling and the soft lights shining down on them. Several slow blinks later the tears were as good as gone, only the memory of them remaining in the dampness still clinging to Prompto's eyelashes.

”What happened afterwards?”

Prompto inhaled, swallowed, wrung his hands. ”They told me to behave and tied up my arms and legs,” he answered, voice bordering on steely after the breakdown seconds before. ”One of them carried me to the cabin, where they set my foot and gave me a potion and some food, and some – drugs or something, I think. It was a bit hazy.”

Something akin to relief bubbled in Clarus' stomach, yet it felt more like acid. He didn't like a single thing he'd heard from Prompto. ”Did they keep you drugged?”

”No, it was just that first one, and then before – before they left, before the Glaives came? I don't remember that part either, not really.” Prompto laughed, but it was embarrassed, frightened, a desperate attempt at fleeing from the shock of what had happened to him. ”Or that's what I think. Could be they gave me more when I was out of it, but...”

”...but it's just those two occasions that stand out,” Clarus finished when Prompto began to trail off. ”That's fine, don't worry about it. What happened at the cabin?”

Prompto hesitated, and for the seconds between the question and the answer, Clarus once again felt fear. ”Nothing really,” the blond replied after a beat, surprise evident in his voice. ”They – they had me on this cot in the kitchen, and gave me food, and let me use the toilet when I wanted, but that was all?”

Another raising intonation. Clarus nodded, musing over the words even as discomfort gnawed at him. The story so far didn't fit into any standard type of a kidnapping plot.

”How many kidnappers were there?” he asked. ”Could you tell their genders?”

The way Prompto looked at him was frightening, to say the least. ”The group was five men, as far as I could tell,” he said. ”But when we got to the cabin, I only saw two of them at a time, the one who sat with me and then the next one who came to switch places with him.”

”And their secondary genders?”

For a long, long while, Prompto was silent. ”They didn't smell like anything,” he said after a while. Clarus, taken aback, opened his mouth to speak up, but was stopped by the sounds of Prompto continuing. ”At first, I thought they were betas, but then I realized they didn't have the beta scent either. They smelled like nothing.”

It was an impossibility. ”Perhaps a scent-canceling soap?” Clarus tried, hesitant to actually dismiss Prompto's words when he could scent the distress bubbling under the surface. ”Those can–”

”No. They smelled like _nothing_.”

Light pooling in from the window partially behind his back, Prompto suddenly resembled the numerous paintings of Astrals and oracles and holy worshippers that sat scattered all over the Citadel. His back was straight, his shoulders pulled back, and nothing was resolve and determination showed on his face. Clarus, faced with an undefeatable opponent, decided it was better to move on.

”Okay,” he said, swallowing, ”we'll look into that. What–”

”There was a bottle of handwash in the bathroom next to the kitchen,” Prompto cut in, voice loud enough to fill the entire room. ”One of those really cheap brands that are about 99% perfume. Lilacs. When I used it, it stuck to my hands so bad I could still smell it a few days into my stay here. When the men used it, the scent clung in the air around them like a cloud, but then vanished away completely.”

Clarus didn't know what to say to that. He had little reason to actually believe what Prompto was describing, not when he knew the blond was hours out of a kidnapping attempt mushed together with a drugged-up stress heat, but Prompto himself clearly believed what he was saying, and Clarus couldn't, in good conscience, trash what remained of his self-confidence any further.

”We'll look into that, I promise,” he repeated, smiling softly. ”So you say nothing happened at the cabin? Did they say anything to you, or do anything to you?”

Visibly unhappy with the change of topic, Prompto stared down on him until his shoulders drooped down once more. ”No,” he murmured, exhaustion shining through, ”they didn't say anything at all after they told me to behave – no, when we got to the cabin, the one who set my foot told me to hold still. But that was it.”

Clarus nodded. He had very few questions left, most of them rendered unnecessary by one aspect of the story or another, yet – ”Do you have any idea why someone might wish you harm you like this?”

Another long, blank stare. ”Dunno,” Prompto drawled, a sudden, wry smirk spreading on his face, ”it's not like I'd be best friends with one prince and good friends with another, and the princess as well, or true mates with one of the most important guys in the world, or how the fuck would I know–”

A raised palm was enough to silence him. ”I apologize,” Clarus spoke, meaning each syllable, ”but I had to ask. I did not mean to insinuate anything.”

Just as soon as the fire had appeared, it fizzled out. ”No, I'm – I'm sorry,” Prompto murmured, eyes turning down to stare at his lap and the fingers twisted into the hem of a hoodie Clarus was fairly sure came from his son's closet. ”I didn't mean to–”

”It's okay, Prompto,” Clarus smiled. ”I understand. It's okay. Just to recap: five men of unknown secondary gender, one tall and dark-haired, the others you never saw?”

Prompto nodded before shaking his head. ”And the alpha,” he murmured, looking somewhere in the corner of the room. ”He was–”

”What alpha?”

So far in the story, there had been no mention of any alpha, nor the presence of anyone beside the five kidnappers and the driver, and the words were startling enough that Clarus couldn't stop himself from cutting in to ask the question. For a moment, Prompto was rendered silent by the interruption, but then he shook his head.

”At the canyon, when they – when they stopped us,” he explained, still looking away from Clarus. ”There was an alpha standing – somewhere really far from us, upwind, but he was there as long as we were.” A brief pause the lenght of one swallow, during which Clarus made to speak up, but was silenced by Prompto hastily continuing: ”I could smell him. I'm – good at scenting out people.”

The last sentence sent weary shivers down Clarus' spine. He had little experience with people like Prompto, but he knew the hyperawareness he was facing; he'd seen it in the military men who prowled the Citadel with their shoulders squared and their lips pinched tight, eyes flickering across every corner and shadow as their ears strained after every sound there or not.

Whoever the alpha, Clarus did not doubt his presence at the scene.

”Could you describe his scent for me?”

Prompto nodded, then appeared to think for a second or two. ”Like apples at the end of the season,” he began, glancing at Clarus before picking up in confidence. ”When the fruit is ripe enough to start falling down on its own, and some of them start decomposing on the ground. Not – not like rot, but decomposing, like that – that day in the fall when the air is crisp and tangy like cider, if that makes sense? It wasn't a bad scent, but really – strong.”

Clarus could see the scene in his mind. ”And that was the only time you noticed his presence?” he asked. Either the man was an unfortunate bystander, though one who hadn't contacted the authorities over the attack, or he was involved in the kidnapping. ”Did the men who took you interact with him in any way?”

”I... I don't think so,” Prompto answered slowly, ”but he _was_ there–”

”I believe you,” Clarus cut in, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible. ”I believe you.” He heard the rush of air coming out of Prompto's lungs, saw the last tension leave his shoulders, then waited another moment longer before clearing his throat. ”But If that was all, then... just let me say that I am so glad to have you home with us, Prompto.”

Though Clarus had been half-expecting to see Prompto tear up at the words, he still wasn't surprised when the blond simply gave a tiny shrug while a pale flush took to his face. Looking away, Prompto swiped at his nose with a slightly trembling hand, then returned his hands to his lap and twisted his face towards the ceiling.

”It's all fucked up now, though,” he murmured, swallowing and blinking furiously. Clarus held back a sigh. ”I mean–”

The last of his words dissolved into short, gasping breaths as tears began to roll down his reddening face. The sight of him crying quietly into his sleeve-covered palms was utterly heartbreaking, but Clarus waited another moment longer before he stood up from his seat and slowly made his way over to the bed, where he sat on Prompto's left side, far enough to give the blond space but close enough that laying his palm against a narrow shoulder was still comfortable.

”It's all good, kid,” Clarus murmured after another moment of crying. Prompto laughed inwards and shook his head but didn't cease sniffling. ”You're home with your family. We've got people from all five countries working on what happened. It must have been so, so terrifying when it all happened, and the memories will be with you for a long time, but you're here and you're unhurt and that's all that matters.”

His own throat constricting around the words he spoke, Clarus was not one bit surprised to hear Prompto's cries grow louder and sparser. Staring at the wall ahead of him, he continued rubbing at Prompto's shoulder while the blond cried, not pausing when unintelligible syllables began to mix in the hitching sobs. At the sound of his son's name, he could no longer hold back the sigh weighting heavy in his lungs.

”It was all supposed to be good now,” Prompto managed to utter between his mournful cries, ”it was supposed to be _good_ , but, but, but–”

Once again, the speech gave way for more crying. A bitter taste in his mouth, Clarus glanced sideways at the blond who would, very likely, one day be his son-in-law and possibly the father of his grandchildren, and once again found himself cursing the Astrals. For giving his son a true mate so utterly broken and ruined, for the hand they had dealt a little child not deserving anything but love and care, for all Gladio and Prompto had been forced to endure before this point.

He couldn't blame Prompto for any of it, nor would he ever do it, but by the Six did he wish that things had ended up differently, that the years he'd watched his son struggle with a hurt mate he couldn't be sure he'd ever get would've been nothing but a nightmare, yet – reality was what it was.

”It can still be good, son,” Clarus began, only to be cut off by a desperate wail coming from Prompto.

”Why would he even _want_ me anymore!” he howled, so much grief and anger in his voice that Clarus actually startled, ”I've got _nothing_ to give him, _nothing_ , I'm just – I want him but–”

By now, Prompto was crying hard enough he was visibly struggling for breath. Clarus moved his palm until it rested over the top of Prompto's spine rather than his shoulder, high enough to brush the bare skin above the thick hood resting against a trembling back, and gave a light squeeze. He could only pray that the breakdown was a combination of exhaustion, trauma reaction, and the heat still lingering in the room.

”Gladio has spent years waiting for this day to come,” he spoke, eyes still locked on the wall ahead of him. ”Years. And I have spent just as long watching him wait, and as such, I would like to consider myself quite an expert on his train of thought.”

”But–”

”No buts.” Clarus paused for a deep breath. ”All these years, he's wanted you – and all these years, he's been willing to wait. He's waited, and he's wanted, and I fail to see a _single_ reason why he wouldn't go through it a second time. However...” He halted, licked at his lips. ”However, I feel as if it might benefit you both if you were to let him in, now that you're back home for good.”

Silence fell into the room. Little by little, Prompto's cries subsided and quieted, until he was sniffling against watery snot on his sleeves. Eyes rimmed with red, he blinked at the ceiling a handful of times, then wiped at his eyes once more.

”Everything was supposed to be okay now,” he murmured, still in full mourning. A small, humorless huff escaped him. ”I just – I feel like I'm back in square one again. Where I was before Tenebrae. And–”

Once again, he burst into tears, though this time they were short-lived. Clarus continued rubbing at his back through it all, and once the cries died down, he turned sideways and carefully prodded at Prompto's shoulder until the blond faced him.

”I can't even pretend to know all you've been through,” he spoke, heart aching for the young man before him, already a member of his own family if just in all their dreams, ”nor can I try to claim I understood how it affected you today still. But–” he squeezed Prompto's shoulder ”–but, I do know you're not all the way back to the start. Even if it might feel like that in this moment, even if what happened were to thrust you backwards in your recovery, it can't negate what you've learned in the past years. A step backwards is not a step all the back to the beginning.”

This time, when the floodgates broke down, Clarus gathered Prompto in his arms and let him cry until he had no more tears left him in. If the past week had told him a thing, it was that the next few days would not be easy for Gladio and Prompto, but he could only pray for the best. A part of him was almost thankful for the stress heat Prompto had tumbled into, because it had given Gladio some time to cool down and pull himself together, yet – the anger he'd witnessed, the insecure rage and the unwillingness to sit down and listen, to accept help – Clarus knew his son, he loved his son, he would have walked to the moon and back for his son, but at times he had no choice but to admit that Gladio's brand of coping was far from the most convenient type.

He knew the good day would come, eventually – but he also knew that the longer the after-effects of Prompto's kidnapping lasted, the deeper this setback would grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE DROP!! Malus coronaria is the scientific name of a species of crabapple :') (I wanted an apple species for the title, and "coronaria" sounds so royal I couldn't pass this one up lol.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! <3
> 
> I'm @missymoth on tumblr and pillowfort both :)


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